CASE 


IFrtw*' 

*      " 


n  -^ 


MOOD  S. 


LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT, 

;i 

4CTHOR  OF   "  LITTLE   WOMEN,"     "AN  OLD-FASHIONED  GLRL,'         AwSFlTAL  SKETCHES/ 


"  Life  is  a  train  of  moods  like  a  string  of  beads ;  and  as  we  -pass  through  them  they  prov« 
;o  be  many  colored  lenses,  which  paint  the  world  their  ow*  hu«,  and  caca  chows  us  only 
what  lies  In  it*  own  focus."  AMEKSON. 


KHSTG-,    Fiablisher, 

319   WASHINGTON    STREET, 
BOSTON. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  18<rl,  by 

A  .     K. .     1 .  o  u  1  N  o  , 
fc  tbt  Clerk  »  Oliicc  oi  thu  Uistrict  Court  of  the  Histrict  oi  ll 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

fi.ec. 
EN  A  YEAR ....  .  ;  .  7 


CHAPTER  II. 

WHIMS 21 

CHAPTER  IH. 

AFLOAT 39 

CHAPTER  IV. 

THROUGH  FLOOD,  AND  FIELD,  AND  FIRE 57 

CHAPTER  V. 

A  GOLDEN  WEDDING  .  .  .  .  ' 81 

CHAPTER  VI. 

WHY  SYLVIA  WAS  HAPPY .102 


:-QS 


IV  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

DULL,  BUT  NECESSARY  ....................    110 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

NO  .................  .*  ......  *  .....    15* 

CHAPTER  IX. 

HOLLY   .  .  .....................  ~      -  .  .    13? 

CHAPTER  X. 

YES  ..........................  l« 

CHAPTER  XL 
WOOING  ..............................      MT 

CHAPTER  XII. 
WEDDING  ..............................    I** 

CHAPTER   XIH. 
SYLVIA'S  HONEYMOON  .....................    If* 

CHAPTER   XIV. 

A  FIRESIDE  FETE  ........................    18» 

CHAPTER  XV. 

EARLY  AND  LATE  ........................    i» 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

IN  THE  TWILIGHT.  ,  .    200 


CONTENTS.  V 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

ASLEEP  AND  AWAKE 223 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

WHAT  NEXT? 238 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

SIX  MONTHS 259 

CHAPTER  XX. 

COME 270 

CHAPTER  XXL 

OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 465 


MOODS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

IN    A   YEAR. 

THE  room  fronted  the  west,  but  a  black  cloud,  barred 
with  red,  robbed  the  hour  of  twilight's  tranquil  charm. 
Shadows  haunted  it,  lurking  in  corners  like  spies  set  there 
to  watch  the  man  who  stood  among  them  mute  and  motion 
less  as  if  himself  a  shadow.  His  eye  turned  often  to  the 
window  with  a  glance  both  vigilant  and  eager,  yet  saw 
nothing  but  a  tropical  luxuriance  of  foliage  scarcely  stirred 
by  the  sultry  air  heavy  with  odors  that  seemed  to  oppress 
not  refresh.  He  listened  with  the  same  intentness,  yet 
heard  only  the  clamor  of  voices,  the  tramp  of  feet,  the 
chime  of  bells,  the  varied  turmoil  of  a  city  when  night  is 
defrauded  of  its  peace  by  being  turned  to  day.  He  watched 
and  waited  for  something ;  presently  it  came.  A  viewless 
visitant,  welcomed  by  longing  soul  and  body  as  the  man, 
with  extended  arms  and  parted  lips  received  the  voiceless 
greeting  of  the  breeze  that  came  winging  its  way  across 
the  broad  Atlantic,  full  of  healthful  cheer  for  a  home-sick 
heart.  Far  out  he  leaned ;  held  back  the  thick-leaved 
boughs  already  rustling  with  a  grateful  stir,  chid  the  shrill 


MOODS. 


beating  its  fian&-eolored  breast  against  its  prison  bars, 
and  drank  deep  draughts  of  the  blessed  wind  that  seemed 
to  cool  the  fever  of  his  blood  and  give  him  back  the  vigor 
he  had  lost;. 

A  sudden  light  shone  out  behind  him  filling  the  room 
with  a  glow  that  left  no  shadow  in  it.  But  he  did  not  see 
the  change,  nor  hear  the  step  that  broke  the  hush,  nor  turn 
to  meet  the  woman  who  stood  waiting  for  a  lover's  welcome. 
An  indefinable  air  of  sumptuous  life  surrounded  her,  and 
made  the  brilliant  room  a  fitting  frame  for  the  figure  stand 
ing  there  with  warm-hued  muslins  blowing  in  the  wind. 
A  figure  full  of  the  affluent  beauty  of  womanhood  in  its 
prime,  bearing  unmistakable  marks  of  the  polished  pupil 
of  the  world  in  the  grace  that  flowed  through  every  motion, 
the  art  which  taught  each  feature  to  play  its  part  with  the 
ease  of  second  nature  and  made  dress  the  foil  to  loveliness, 
The  face  was  delicate  and  dark  as  a  fine  bronze,  a  low  fore 
head  set  in  shadowy  waves  of  hair,  eyes  full  of  slumber 
ous  fire,  and  a  passionate  yet  haughty  mouth  that  seemed 
shaped  alike  for  caresses  and  commands. 

A  moment  she  watched  the  man  before  her,  while  over 
her  countenance  passed  rapid  variations  of  pride,  resent 
ment,  and  tenderness.  Then  with  a  stealthy  step,  an  as 
sured  smile,  she  went  to  him  and  touched  his  hand,  saying, 
in  a  -voice  inured  to  that  language  which  seems  made  for 
lovers'  lips  — 

"  Only  a  month  betrothed,  and  yet  so  cold  and  gloomy, 
Adam  !  " 

With  a  slight  recoil,  a  glance  of  soft  detestation  veiled 
and  yet  visible,  Warwick  answered  like  a  satiric  echo  — 

"  Only  a  month  betrothed,  and  yet  so  fond  and  jealous, 
Ottila  !  " 


IN   A   YEAR. 

Unchilled  by  the  action,  undaunted  by  the  look,  the 
white  arm  took  him  captive,  the  beautiful  face  drew  nearer, 
and  the  persuasive  voice  asked  wistfully  — 

"  Was  it  of  me  you  thought  when  you  turned  with  that 
longing  in  your  eye  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Was  it  of  a  fairer  or  a  dearer  friend  than  I  ?  " 

"Yes." 

The  black  brows  contracted  ominously,  the  mouth  grew 
hard,  the  eyes  glittered,  the  arm  became  a  closer  bond,  the 
entreaty  a  command. 

"  Let  me  know  the  name,  Adam." 

"  Self-respect." 

She  laughed  low  to  herself,  and  the  mobile  features  soft 
ened  to  their  former  tenderness  as  she  looked  up  into  that 
other  face  so  full  of  an  accusing  significance  which  she 
would  not  understand. 

"I  have  waited  two  long  hours;  have  you  no  kinder 
greeting,  love  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  truer  one.  Ottila,  if  a  man  has  done  un 
wittingly  a  weak,  unwise,  or  wicked  act,  what  should  he 
do  when  he  discovers  it  ?  " 

"  Eepent  and  mend  .his  ways  ;  need  I  tell  you  that  ?  " 

"  I  have  repented  ;  will  you  help  me  mend  my  ways?" 

"  Confess,  dear  sinner ;  I  will  shrive  you  and  grant  abso 
lution  for  the  past,  whatever  it  may  be." 

"  How  much  would  you  do  for  love  of  me  ?  " 

"  Anything  for  you,  Adam." 

"  Then  give  me  back  my  liberty." 

He  rose  erect  and  stretched  his  hands  to  her  with  a  ges 
ture  of  entreaty,  an  expression  of  intense  desire.  Ottifa 
fell  bnck  n«  if  the  forceful  words  nnd  action  swept  her  from 


]  0  MOODS. 

him.  The  smile  died  on  her  lips,  a  foreboding  fear  looked 
out  at  her  eyes,  and  she  asked  incredulously  — 

"Do  you  mean  it?" 

"Yes;  now,  entirely,  and  forever!" 

If  he  had  lifted  his  strong  arm  and  struck  her,  it  would 
not  have  daunted  with  such  pale  dismay.  An  instant  she 
stood  like  one  who  saw  a  chasm  widening  before  her,  which 
she  had  no  power  to  cross.  Then  as  if  disappointment  was 
a  thing  impossible  and  unknown,  she  seized  the  imploring 
hands  in  a  grasp  that  turned  them  white  with  its  passion 
ate  pressure  as  she  cried  — 

"  No,  I  will  not!  I  have  waited  for  your  love  so  long 
I  cannot  give  it  up ;  you  shall  not  take  it  from  me !  " 

But  as  if  the  words  had  made  the  deed  irrevocable,  War 
wick  put  her  away,  speaking  with  the  stern  accent  of  one 
who  fears  a  traitor  in  himself. 

"I  cannot  take  from  yoa  what  you  never  had.  Stand 
there  and  hear  me.  No  ;  I  will  have  no  blandishments  to 
keep  me  from  my  purpose,  no  soft  words  to  silence  the  hard 
ones  I  mean  to  speak,  no  more  illusions  to  hide  us  from 
each  other  and  ourselves." 

"Adam,  you  are  cruel." 

"  Better  seem  cruel  than  be  treacherous ;  better  wound 
your  pride  now  than  your  heart  hereafter,  when  too  late  you 
discover  that  I  married  you  without  confidence,  respect,  or 
love.  For  once  in  your  life  you  shall  hear  the  truth  as 
plain  as  words  can  make  it.  You  shall  see  me  at  my  best 
as  at  my  worst ;  you  shall  know  what  I  have  learned  to  find 
in  you ;  shall  look  back  into  the  life  behind  us,  forward  into 
the  life  before  us,  and  if  there  be  any  candor  in  you  1  will 
wring  from  you  an  acknowledgment  that  you  have  led  me 
info  an  unrighteous  compact.  Unrighteous,  because  you 


IN   A   YEAK.  11 

have  deceived  me  in  yourself,  appealed  to  the  baser,  not  the 
nobler  instincts  in  me,  and  on  such  a  foundation  there  can 
be  no  abiding  happiness." 

"Go  on,  I  will  hear  you."  And  conscious  that  she  could 
not  control  the  will  now  thoroughly  aroused,  Ottila  bent 
before  it  as  if  meekly  ready  to  hear  all  things  for  love's 
sake. 

A  disdainful  smile  passed  over  Warwick's  face,  as  with 
an  eye  that  fixed  and  held  her  own,  he  rapidly  went  on, 
never  pausing  to  choose  smooth  phrases  or  soften  facts,  but 
seeming  to  find  a  relish  in  the  utterance  of  bitter  truths 
after  the  honeyed  falsehood  he  had  listened  to  so  long.  Yet 
through  all  the  harshness  glowed  the  courage  of  an  upright 
soul,  the  fervor  of  a  generous  heart. 

"  I  know  little  of  such  things  and  care  less ;  but  I  think 
few  lovers  pass  through  a  scene  such  as  this  is  to  be,  because 
few  have  known  lives  like  ours,  or  one  such  as  we.  You  a 
woman  stronger  for  good  or  ill  than  those  about  you,  I  a 
man  untamed  by  any  law  but  that  of  my  own  will.  Strength 
is  royal,  we  both  possess  it;  as  kings  and  queens -drop  their 
titles  in  their  closets,  let  us  drop  all  disguises  and  see  each 
other  as  God  sees  us.  This  compact  must  be  broken ;  let 
me  show  you  why.  Three  months  ago  I  came  here  to  take 
the  chill  of  an  Arctic  winter  out  of  blood  and  brain.  1 
have  done  so  and  am  the  worse  for  it.  In  melting  frost  I 
have  kindled  fire ;  a  fire  that  will  burn  all  virtue  out  of  me 
unless  I  quench  it  at  once.  I  mean  to  do  so,  because  I  will 
not  keep  the  ten  commandments  before  men's  eyes  and  break 
them  every  hour  in  my  heart." 

He  paused  a  moment,  as  if  hotter  words  rose  to  his  lipa 
than  generosity  would  let  him  utter,  and  when  he  spoke 
agaiu  there  was  more  reproach  than  anger  in  his  voice. 


12  MOODS. 

"  Ottila,  till  I  knew  you  I  loved  no  woman  but  my 
mother ;  I  wooed  no  wife,  bought  no  mistress,  desired  no 
friend,  but  led  a  life  austere  as  any  monk's,  asking  only 
freedom  and  my  work.  Could  you  not  let  me  keep  my 
independence  ?  Were  there  not  men  enough  who  would 
find  no  degradation  in  a  spiritual  slavery  like  this  ?  Would 
nothing  but  my  subjection  satisfy  your  unconquerable  ap 
petite  for  power  ?  " 

"  Did  I  seek  you,  Adam  ?  " 

"Yes!  Not  openly,  I  grant,  your  art  was  too  fine  for 
that ;  you  shunned  me  that  I  might  seek  you  to  ask  why. 
In  interviews  that  seemed  to  come  by  chance,  you  tried 
every  wile  a  woman  owns,  and* they  are  many.  You  wooed 
me  as  such  as  you  alone  can  woo  the  hearts  they  know  are 
hardest  to  be  won.  You  made  your  society  a  refreshment 
in  this  climate  of  the  passions  ;  you  hid  your  real  self  and 
feigned  that  for  which  I  felt  most  honor.  You  entertained 
my  beliefs  with  largest  hospitality ;  encouraged  my  ambi 
tions  with  a  sympathy  so  genial  that  I  thought  it  genuine  ; 
professed  my  scorn  for  shammery,  and  seemed  an  earnest 
woman,  eager  to  find  the  true,  to  do  the  right ;  a  fit  wife 
for  any  man  who  desired  a  helpmate,  not  a  toy.  It  showed 
much  strength  of  wit  and  will  to  conceive  and  execute  the 
design.  It  proved  your  knowledge  of  the  virtues  you  could 
counterfeit  so  well,  else  I  never  should  have  been  where  I 
am  now." 

"  Your  commendation  is  deserved,  though  so  ungently 
given,  Adam." 

"  There  will  be  no  more  of  it.  If  I  am  ungentle,  it  is 
because  I  despise  deceit,  and  you  possess  a  guile  that  has 
given  me  my  first  taste  of  self-contempt,  and  the  draught  is 
bitter.  Hear  me  out ;  for  this  reminiscence  is  my  justifica- 


IN   A   YEAR.  13 

tion  ;  you  must  listen  to  the  one  and  'accept  the  other. 
You  seemed  all  this,  but  under  the  honest  friendliness  you 
showed  lurked  the  purpose  you  have  since  avowed,  to  con 
quer  most  entirely  the  man  who  denied  your  right  to  rule 
by  the  supremacy  of  beauty  or  of  sex  alone.  You  saw  the 
unsuspected  fascination  that  detained  me  here  when  my 
better  self  said  '  Go.'  You  allured  my  eye  with  loveliness, 
my  ear  with  music ;  piqued  curiosity,  pampered  pride,  and 
subdued  will  by  flatteries  subtly  administered.  Beginning 
afar  off,  you  let  all  influences  do  their  work  till  the  moment 
came  for  the  effective  stroke.  Then  you  made  a  crowning 
sacrifice  of  maiden  modesty  and  owned  you  loved  me." 

Shame  burned  red  on  Ottila's  dark  cheek,  and  ire  flamed 
up  in  her  eyes,  as  the  untamable  spirit  of  the  woman 
answered  against  her  will  — 

"  It  was  not  made  in  vain ;  for,  rebellious  as  you  are,  it 
subdued  you,  and  with  your  own  weapon,  the  bare  truth." 

He  had  said  truly,  "  You  shall  see  me  at  my  best  as  at 
worst."  She  did,  for  putting  pride  underneath  his  feet  he 
showed  her  a  brave  sincerity,  which  she  could  admire  but 
never  imitate,  and  in  owning  a  defeat  achieved  a  victory. 

"  You  think  I  shall  deny  this.  I  do  not,  but  acknowl 
edge  to  the  uttermost  that,  in  spite  of  all  resistance,  I  was 
conquered  by  a  woman.  If  it  affords  you  satisfaction  to 
hear  this,  to  know  that  it  is  hard  to  say,  harder  still  to 
feel,  take  the  ungenerous  delight ;  I  give  it  to  you  ae  an 
alms.  But  remember  that  if  I  have  failed,  no  less  have 
you.  For  in  that  stormy  heart  of  yours  there  is  no  senti 
ment  more  powerful  than  that  you  feel  for  me,  and  through 
it  you  will  receive  the  retribution  you  have  brought  upon 
yourself.  You  were  elated'  with  success,  and  forgot  too 
soon  the  character  you  had  so  well  supported.  You  thought 
2 


14  MOODS. 

love  blinded  me,  but  there  was  no  love  ;  and  during  this 
month  I  have  learned  to  know  you  as  you  are.  A  woman 
of  strong  passions  and  weak  principles  ;  hungry  for  power 
and  intent  on  pleasure ;  accomplished  in  deceit  and  reck 
less  in  trampling  on  the  nobler  instincts  of  a  gifted  but 
neglected  nature.  Ottila,  I  have  no  faith  in  you,  feel  no 
respect  for  the  passion  you  inspire,  own  no  allegiance  to 
the  dominion  you  assert" 

"  You  cannot  throw  it  off ;  it  is  too  late." 

It  was  a  rash  defiance ;  she  saw  that  as  it  passed  her 
lips,  and  would  have  given  much  to  have  recalled  it.  The 
stern  gravity  of  Warwick's  face  flashed  into  a  stern  indig 
nation.  His  eye  shone  like  steel,  but  his  voice  dropped 
lower  and  his  hand  closed  like  a  vice  as  he  said,  with  the 
air  of  one  who  cannot  conceal  but  can  control  sudden  wrath 
at  a  taunt  to  which  past  weakness  gives  a  double  sting  — 

"  It  never  is  too  late.  If  the  priest  stood  ready,  and  I 
had  sworn  to  marry  you  within  the  hour,  I  would  break  the 
cath,  and  God  would  pardon  it,  for  no  man  has  a  right  to 
embrace  temptation  and  damn  himself  by  a  life-long  lie. 
You  choose  to  make  it  a  hard  battle  for  me ;  you  are 
neither  an  honest  friend  nor  a  generous  foe.  No  matter,  I 
have  fallen  into  an  ambuscade  and  must  cut  my  way  out 
as  I  can,  and  as  I  will,  for  there  is  enough  of  this  Devil's 
work  in  the  world  without  our  adding  to  it." 

"  You  cannot  escape  with  honor,  Adam." 

"I  cannot  remain  with  honor.  Do  not  try  me  too  hard- 
ly,  Ottila.  I  am  not  patient,  but  I  do  desire  to  be  just. 
I  confess  my  weakness ;  will  not  that  satisfy  you  ?  Blazon 
your  wrong  as  you  esteem  it ;  ask  sympathy  of  those  who 
see  not  as  I  see  ;  reproach,  defy,  lament.  I  will  bear  it 
all,  will  make  any  other  sacrifice  as  an  atonement,  but  I 


IN   A   YEAR.  15 

will  '  hold  fast  mine  integrity '  and  obey  a  higher  law  than 
your  world  recognizes,  both  for  your  sake  and  my  own." 

She  watched  him  as  he  spoke,  and  to  herself  confessed  a 
slavery  more  absolute  than  any  he  had  known,  for  with  a 
pang  she  felt  that  she  had  indeed  fallen  into  the  snare  she 
spread  for  him,  and  in  this  man,  who  dared  to  own  his 
weakness  and  her  power,  she  had  found  a  master.  Was  it 
too  late  to  keep  him  ?  She  knew  that  soft  appeals  were 
vain,  tears  like  water  on  a  rock,  and  with  the  skill  that 
had  subdued  him  once  she  endeavored  to  retrieve  her  blun 
der  by  an  equanimity  which  had  more  effect  than  prayers 
or  protestations.  Warwick  had  read  her  well,  had  shown 
her  herself  stripped  of  all  disguises,  and  left  her  no  defence 
but  tardy  candor.  She  had  the  wisdom  to  see  this,  the  wit 
to  use  it  and  restore  the  shadow  of  the  power  whose  sub 
stance  she  had  lost.  Leaving  her  beauty  to  its  silent  work, 
she  fixed  on  him  eyes  whose  lustre  was  quenched  in  unshed 
tears,  and  said  with  an  earnest,  humble  voice  — 

"  I,  too,  desire  to  be  just.  I  will  not  reproach,  defy,  or 
lament,  but  leave  my  fate  to  you.  I  am  all  you  say,  yet 
in  your  judgment  remember  mercy,  and  believe  that  at 
twenty-five  there  is  still  hope  for  the  noble  but  neglected 
nature,  still  time  to  repair  the  faults  of  birth,  education, 
and  orphanhood.  You  say,  I  have  a  daring  will,  a  love  of 
conquest.  Can  I  not  will  to  overcome  myself  and  do  it? 
Can  I  not  learn  to  be  the  woman  I  have  seemed  ?  Love 
has  worked  greater  miracles ;  may  it  not  work  this  ?  I 
have  longed  to  be  a  truer  creature  than  I  am  ;  have  seen 
my  wasted  gifts,  felt  my  capacity  for  better  things,  and 
looked  for  help  from  many  sources,  but  never  found  it  till 
you  came.  Do  you  wonder  that  I  tried  to  make  it  mine  ? 
Adam,  you  are  a  self-elected  missionary  to  the  world's 


16  MOODS. 

afflicted ;  you  can  look  beyond  external  poverty  and  see  tha 
indigence  of  souls.  I  am  a  pauper  in  your  eyes ;  stretch 
out  your  hand  and  save  me  from  myself." 

Straight  through  the  one  vulnerable  point  m  the  man's 
pride  went  this  appeal  to  the  man's  pity.  Indignation 
could  not  turn  it  aside,  contempt  blunt  its  edge,  or  wound 
ed  feeling  lessen  its  force  ;  and  yet  it  failed :  for  in  Adam 
Warwick  justice  was  stronger  than  mercy,  reason  than  im 
pulse,  head  than  heart.  Experience  was  a  teacher  whom 
he  trusted ;  he  had  weighed  this  woman  and  found  her 
wanting ;  truth  was  not  in  her ;  the  patient  endeavor,  the 
hard-won  success  so  possible  to  many  was  hardly  so  to  her, 
and  a  union  between  them  could  bring  no  lasting  good  to 
either.  He  knew  this ;  had  decided  it  in  a  calmer  hour 
than  the  present,  and  by  that  decision  he  would  now  abide 
proof  against  all  attacks  from  without  or  from  within. 
More  gently,  but  as  inflexibly  as  before,  he  said  — 

"  I  do  put  out  my  hand  and  offer  you  the  same  bitter 
draught  of  self-contempt  that  proved  a  tonic  to  my  own 
weak  will.  I  can  help,  pity,  and  forgive  you  heartily,  but 
I  dare  not  marry  you.  The  tie  that  binds  us  is  a  passion 
of  the  senses,  not  a  love  of  the  soul.  You  lack  the  moral 
sentiment  that  makes  all  gifts  and  graces  subservient  to 
the  virtues  that  render  womanhood  a  thing  to  honor  as  well 
as  love.  I  can  relinquish  youth,  beauty,  worldly  advan 
tages,  but  I  must  reverence  above  all  others  the  woman 
whom  I  marry,  and '  feel  an  affection  that  elevates  me  by 
quickening  all  that  is  noblest  and  manliest  in  me.  Witt 
you  I  should  be  either  a  tyrant  or  a  slave.  I  will  be 
neither,  but  go  solitary  all  my  life  rather  than  rashly  mort 
gage  the  freedom  kept  inviolate  so  long,  or  let  the  impulsf 
of  an  hour  mar  the  worth  of  coming  years." 


IN   A   YEAR.  17 

Bent  and  broken  by  the  unanswerable  accusations  of 
what  seemed  a  conscience  in  human  shape,  Ottila  had  sunk 
down  before  him  with  an  abandonment  as  native  to  her  as 
the  indomitable  will  which*  still  refused  to  relinquish  hope 
even  in  despair. 

"  Go,"  she  said,  "  I  am  not  worthy  of  salvation.  Yet 
it  is  hard,  very  hard,  to  lose  the  one  motive  strong  enough 
to  save  me,  the  one  sincere  affection  of  my  life." 

Warwick  had  expected  a  tempestuous  outbreak  at  his 
decision ;  this  entire  submission  touched  him,  for  in  the 
last  words  of  her  brief  lament  he  detected  the  accent  of 
truth,  and  longed  to  answer  it.  He  paused,  searching  for 
the  just  thing  to  be  done.  Ottila,  with  hidden  face,  watched 
while  she  wept,  and  waited  hopefully  for  the  relenting  sign. 
In  silence  the  two,  a  modern  Samson  and  Delilah,  waged 
the  old  war  that  has  gone  on  ever  since  the  strong  locks 
were  shorn  and  the  temple  fell ;  a  war  which  fills  the  world 
with  unmated  pairs  and  the  long  train  of  evils  arising  from 
marriages  made  from  impulse,  and  not  principle.  As  usual, 
the  most  generous  was  worsted.  The  silence  pleaded  well 
for  Ottila,  and  when  Warwick  spoke  it  was  to  say  impetu 
ously  — 

"You  are  right!  It  is  hard  that  when  two  err  one  alone 
should  suffer.  I  should  have  been  wise  enough  to  see  the 
danger,  brave  enough  to  fly  from  it.  1  was  not,  and  I  owe 
you  some  reparation  for  the  pain  my  folly  brings  you.  I 
offer  you  the  best,  because  the  hardest,  sacrifice  that  I  can 
make.  You  say  love  can  work  miracles,  and  that  yours  ia 
the  sincerest  affection  of  your  life ;  prove  it.  In  three 
months  you  conquered  me ;  can  you  conquer  yourself  in 
twelve  ?  " 

"  Try  me  !  " 


18  MOODS. 

"  I  will.  Nature  takes  a  year  for  hei  harvests  ;  I  give 
you  the  same  for  yours.  If  you  wril  devote  one  half  the 
energy  and  care  to  this  work  that  you  devoted  to  that  oth 
er,  —  will  earnestly  endeavor  to  cherish  all  that  is  womanly 
and  noble  in  yourself,  and  through  desire  for  another's 
respect  earn  your  own,  —  I,  too,  will  try  to  make  myself  a  | 
fitter  mate  for  any  woman,  and  keep  our  troth  unbroken  for 
a  year.  Can  I  do  more  ?  " 

"  I  dared  not  ask  so  much !  I  have  not  deserved  it,  but 
I  will.  Only  love  me,  Adam,  and  let  me  save  myself 
through  you." 

Flushed  and  trembling  with  delight  she  rose,  sure  the 
trial  was  safely  passed,  but  found  that  for  herself  a  new 
one  had  begun.  Warwick  offered  his  hand. 

"  Farewell,  then." 

"  Going  ?  Surely  you  will  stay  and  help  me  through 
my  long  probation  ?  " 

"  No  ;  if  your  desire  has  any  worth  you  can  work  it  out 
alone.  We  should  be  hindrances  to  one  another,  and  the 
labor  be  ill  done." 

"  Where  will  you  go  ?     Not  far,  Adam." 

"  Straight  to  the  North.  This  luxurious  life  enervates 
me ;  the  pestilence  of  slavery  lurks  in  the  air  and  infects 
me  ;  I  must  build  myself  up  anew  and  find  again  the  man 
I  was." 

"  When  must  you  go  ?     Not  soon." 

"  At  once." 

'  I  shall  hear  from  you  ?  " 
Not  till  I  come." 

*  But  I  shall  need  encouragement,  shall  grow  hungry 
ior  a  word,  a  thought  from  you.  A  ysar  is  very  long  to 
wait  and  work  alone  " 


19 


Eloquently  she  pleaded  with  voice  and  eyes  and  tender 
lips,  but  Warwick  did  not  yield. 

"  If  the  test  be  tried  at  all  it  must  be  fairly  tried.  We 
must  stand  entirely  apart  and  see  what  saving  virtue  lies 
in  self-denial  and  self-help." 

"  You  will  forget  me,  Adam.  Some  woman  with  a 
calmer  heart  than  mine  will  teach  you  to  love  as  you  desire 
to  love,  and  when  my  work  is  done  it- will  be  all  in  vain." 

"  Never  in  vain  if  it  be  well  done,  for  such  labor  is  its 
own  reward.  Have  no  fear ;  one  such  lesson  will  last  a 
lifetime.  Do  your  part  heartily,  and  I  will  keep  my 
pledge  until  the  year  is  out." 

"  And  then,  what  then  ?  " 

"  If  I  see  in  you  the  progress  both  should  desire,  if  this 
tie  bears  the  test  of  time  and  absence,  and  we  find  any 
basis  for  an  abiding  union,  then,  Ottila,  I  will  marry  you." 

'*  But  if  meanwhile  that  colder,  calmer  woman  comes  to 
you,  what  then  ?  " 

"  Then  I  will  not  marry  you." ' 

"  Ah,  your  promise  is  a  man's  vow,  made  only  to  be 
broken.  I  have  no  faith  in  you." 

"  I  think  you  may  have.  There  will  be  no  time  for 
more  folly ;  I  must  repair  the  loss  of  many  wasted  days,  — 
nay,  not  wasted  if  I  have  learned  this  lesson  well.  Kest 
secure  ;  it  is  impossible  that  I  should  love." 

"  You  believed  that  three  months  ago  and  yet  you  are  a 
lover  now."  • 

Ottila  smiled  an  exultant  smile,  and  Warwick  acknowl 
edged  his  proven  fallibility  by  a  haughty  flush  and  a  frank 
amendment. 

"  I^et  it  stand,  then,  that  if  I  love  again  I  am  to  wait  in 
silence  till  the  year  is  out  and  you  absolve  me  from  my 
pledge.  Docs  that  satisfy  you  ?  " 


20  MOODS. 


"  It  VAIC&  ^ut  you  will  come,  whatever  changes  may 
befall  y(»a  ?  Vv  -Dmise  me  this.  " 

**  I  promise  it." 

•'  Going  so  soon  ?     Oh,  wait  a  little  !  " 

"  When  a  daty  is  to  be  done,  do  it  at  once  ;  delay  is 
dangerous.  Good  nighjt." 

*  Give  me  somt  remembrance  of  you.  I  have  nothing, 
for  you  are  not  a  generous  lover." 

"  Generous  in  deeds,  Ottila.  I  have  given  you  a  year's 
liberty,  a  dear  gift  from  one  who  values  it  more  than  life. 
Now  I  add  this." 

He  drew  her  to  him,  kissed  the  red  mouth  and  looked 
down  upon  her  with  a  glance  that  made  his  man's  face  as 
pitiful  as  any  woman's  as  he  let  her  lean  there  happy  in 
the  hope  given  at  such  cost.  For  a  moment  nothing  stirred 
in  the  room  but  the  soft  whisper  of  the  wind.  For  a  mo 
ment  Warwick's  austere  life  looked  hard  to  him,  love  seemed 
sweet,  submission  possible;  for  in  all  the  world  this  was 
the  only  woman  who  clung  to  him,  and  it  was  beautiful  to 
cherish  and  be  cherished  after  years  of  solitude.  A  long 
sigh  of  desire  and  regret  broke  from  him,  and  at  the  sound 
a  stealthy  smile  touched  Ottila'  s  lips  as  she  whispered, 
with  a  velvet  cheek  against  his  own  — 

"  Love,  you  will  stay  ?  " 

"  I  will  not  stay  !  " 

And  like  one  who  cries  out  sharply  within  himself,  "  Get 
thee  behind  me  !  "  he  broke  away. 

"  Adam,  come  back  to  me  !     Come  back  !  " 

He  looked  over  his  shoulder,  saw  the  fair  woman  in  the 
heart  of  the  warm  glow,  heard  her  cry  of  love  and  longing, 
knew  the  life  of  luxurious  ease  that  waited  for  him,  but 
steadily  went  out  into  the  night,  only  answering  — 

"  In  a  year." 


CHAPTER  H. 

WHIMS. 

• 

* "  COME,  Sylvia,  it  is  nine  o'clock !  Little  slug-a-bed,  don't 
you  mean  to  get  up  to-day  ?  "  said  Miss  Yule,  bustling 
into  her  sister's  room  with  the  wide-awake  appearance  of 
one  to  whom  sleep  was  a  necessary  evil,  to  be  endured  and 
gotten  over  as  soon  as  possible. 

"  No,  why  should  I?  And  Sylvia  turned  her  face  away 
from  the  flood  of  light  that  poured  into  the  room  as  Prue 
put  aside  the  curtains  and  flung  up  the  window. 

"Why  should  you?'  What  a  question,  unless  you  are 
ill ;  I  was  afraid  you  would  suffer  for  that  long  row  yester 
day,  and  my  predictions  seldom  fail." 

"I  am  not  suffering  from  any  cause  whatever,  and  your 
prediction  does  fail  this  time ;  I  am  only  tired  of  everybody 
and  everything,  and  see  nothing  wt>rth  getting  up  for ;  so  I 
shall  just  stay  here  till  I  do.  Please  put  the  curtain  down 
and  leave  me  in  peace." 

Prue  had  dropped  her  voice  to  the  foreboding  tone  so 
irritating  to  nervous  persons  whether  sick  or  well,  and 
Sylvia  laid  her  arm  across  her  eyes  with  an  impatient  ges 
ture  as  she  spoke  sharply. 

"  Nothing  worth  getting  up  for,"  cried  Prue,  like'  an 
aggravating  echo.  "  Why,  child,  there  are  a  hundred 
pleasant  things  to  do  if  you  would  only  think  so.  Now 


22  MOODS. 

don't  be  dismal  and  mope  away  this  lovely  day.  Get  up 
and  try  my  plan ;  have  a  good  breakfast,  read  the  papers, 
and  then  work  in  your  garden  before  it  grows  too  warm ; 
that  is  wholesome  exercise  and  you  've  neglected  it  sadly  of 
late." 

"  I  don't  wish  any  breakfast ;  I  hate  newspapers,  they  are 
BO  full  of  lies;  I'm  tired  of  the  garden,  for  nothing  goes 
right  this  year ;  and  I  detest  taking  exercise  merely  because 
it 's  wholesome.  No,  I  '11  not  get  up  for  that." 

"  Then  stay  in  the  house  and  draw,  read,  or  practise. 
Sit  with  Mark  in  the  studio ;  give  Miss  Hemming  direc 
tions  about  your  summer  things,  or  go  into  town  about  your 
bonnet.  There  is  a  matinee,  try  that ;  or  make  calls,  for 
you  owe  fifty  at  least.  Now  I'm  sure  there's  employment 
enough  and  amusement  enough  for  any  reasonable  person." 

Prue  looked  triumphant,  but  Sylvia  was  not  a  "  reas 
onable  person,"  and  went  on  in  her  former  despondingly 
petulant  strain. 

"  I'm  tired  of  drawing ;  my  head  is  a  jumble  of  other 
people's  ideas  already,  and  Herr  Pedalsturm  has  put  the 
piano  out  of  tune.  Mark  always  makes  a  model  of  me  if 
I  go  to  him,  and  I  don't  like  to  see  my  eyes,  arms,  or  hair 
in  all  his  pictures.  Miss  Hemming's  gossip  is  worse  than 
fussing  over  new  things  that  I  don't  need.  Bonnets  are  my 
torment,  and  matinees  are  wearisome,  for  people  whisper 
and  flirt  till  the  music  is  spoiled.  Making  calls  is  the 
worst  of  all ;  for  what  pleasure  or  profit  is  there  in  running 
from  place  to  place  to  tell  the  same  polite  fibs  over  and  over 
again,  and  listen  to  scandal  that  makes  you  pity  or  despise 
your  neighbors.  I  shall  not  get  up  for  any  of  these 
things." 

True  leaned  on  the  bedpost  meditating  with  an  anxious 


WHIMS.  23 

face  till   a   forlorn   hope  appeared  which   caused  her  to 
exclaim  — 

•"  Mark  and  I  are  going  to  see  Geoffrey  Moor,  this  morn 
ing,  just  home  from  Switzerland,  where  his  poor  sister  died, 
you  know.  You  really  ought  to  come  with  us  and  welcome 
him,  for  though  you  can  hardly  remember  him,  he  's  been 
BO  long  away,  still,  as  one  of  the  family,  it  is  a  proper  com 
pliment  on  your  part.  The  drive  will  do  you  good,  Geof 
frey  will  be  glad  to  see  you,  it  is  a  lovely  old  place,  and  as 
you  never  saw  the  inside  of  the  house  you  cannot  complain 
that  you  are  tired  of  that  yet." 

"  Yes  I  can,  for  it  will  never  seem  as  it  has  done,  and  I 
can  no  longer  go  where  I  please  now  that  a  master's  pres 
ence  spoils  its  freedom  and  solitude  for  me.  I  don't  know 
him,  and  don't  care  to,  though  his  name  is  so  familiar. 
New  people  always  disappoint  me,  especially  if  I've  heard 
them  praised  ever  since  I  was  born.  I  shall  not  get  up  for 
any  Geoffrey  Moor,  so  that  bait  fails." 

Sylvia  smiled  involuntarily  at  her  sister's  defeat,  but 
Prue  fell  back  upon  her  last  resource  in  times  like  this. 
With  a  determined  gesture  she  plunged  her  hand  into  an 
abysmal  pocket,  and  from  a  miscellaneous  collection  of 
treasures  selected  a  tiny  vial,  presenting  it  to  Sylvia  with 
a  half  pleading,  half  authoritative  look  and  tone. 

"  I  '11  leave  you  in  peace  if  you  '11  only  take  a  dose  of 
chamomilla.  It  is  so  soothing,  that  instead  of  tiring  your 
self  with  all  manner  of  fancies,  you  '11  drop  into  a  quiet 
sleep,  and  by  noon  be  ready  to  get  up  like  a  civilized 
being.  Do  take  it,  dear ;  just  four  sugar-plums,  and  I'm 
satisfied." 

Sylvia  received  the  bottle  with  a  docile  expression  ;  but 
the  next  minute  it  flew  out  of  the  window,  to  be  shivered 


24  MOODS. 

on  the  walk  below,  while  she  said,  laughing  like  a  wilful 
creature  as  she  was  — 

"  I  have  taken  it  in  the  only  way  I  ever  shall,  and  the 
sparrows  can  try  its  soothing  effects  with  me  ;  so  be  satis 
fied." 

"  Very  well.  I  shall  send  for  Dr.  Baum,  for  I'm  con 
vinced  that  you  are  going  to  be  ill.  I  shall  say  no  more, 
but  act  as  I  think  proper,  because  it 's  like  talking  to  the 
wind  to  reason  with  you  in  one  of  these  perverse  fits." 

As  Prue  turned  away,  Sylvia  frowned  and  called  after 
her  — 

"  Spare  yourself  -the  trouble,  for  Dr.  Baum  will  follow 
the  chamomilla,  if  you  bring  him  here.  What  does  he 
know  about  health,  a  fat  German,  looking  lager  beer  and 
talking  sauer-kraut?  Bring  me  bonafide  sugar-plums  and 
I  '11  take  them  ;  but  arsenic,  mercury,  and  nightshade  are 
not  to  my  taste." 

"  "Would  you  feel  insulted  if  I  ask  whether  your  break 
fast  is  to  be  serit  up,  or  kept  waiting  till  you  choose  to  come 
down?" 

Prue  looked  rigidly  calm,  but  Sylvia  knew  that  she  felf 
hurt,  and  with  one  of  the  sudden  impulses  which  ruled  her 
the  frown  melted  to  a  smile,  as  drawing  her  sister  down  she 
kissed  her  in  her  most  loving  manner. 

"  Dear  old  soul,  I'll  be  good  by-and-by,  but  now  I'm 
tired  and  cross,  so  let  me  keep  out  of  every  one's  way  and 
drowse  myself  into  a  cheerier  frame  of  mind.  I  want 
nothing  but  solitude,  a  draught  of  water,  and  a  kiss." 

Prue  was  mollified  at  once,  and  after  stirring  fussily 
about  for  several  minutes  gave  her  sister  all  she  asked,  and 
departed  to  the  myriad  small  cares  that  made  her  happi 
ness.  As  the  door  closed,  Sylvia  sighed  a  long  sigh  of  re 


25 

lief,  and  folding  her  arms  tinder  her  head  drifted  away  into 
the  land  of  dreams,  where  ennui  is  unknown. 

All  the  long  summer  morning  she  lay  wrapt  in  sleeping 
and  waking  dreams,  forgetful  of  the  world  about  her,  till 
her  brother  played  the  Wedding  March  upon  her  door  on 
his  way  to  lunch.  The  desire  to  avenge  the  sudden  down 
fall  of  a  lovely  castle  in  the  air  rouse,d  Sylvia,  and  sent  her 
down  to  skirmish  with  Mark.  Before  she  could  say  a  word, 
however,  Prue  began  to  talk  in  a  steady  stream,  for  the 
good  soul  had  a  habit  of  jumbling  news,  gossip,  private 
opinions  and  public  affairs  into  a  colloquial  hodge-podge, 
that  was  often  as  trying  to  the  intellects  as  the  risibles  of 
her  hearers. 

"  Sylvia,  we  had  a  charming  call,  and  Geoffrey  sent  his 
lo*ve  to  you.  I  asked  him  over  to  dinner,  and  we  shall  dine 
at  six,  because  then  my  father  can  be  with  us.  I  shall 
have  to  go  to  town  first,  for  there  are  a  dozen  things  suffer-? 
ing  for  attention.  You  can't  wear  a  round  hat  and  lawn 
jackets  without  a  particle  of  set  all  summer.  I  want  some 
things  for  dinner,  —  and  the  carpet  must  be  got.  What  a 
lovely  one  Geoffrey  had  in  the  library  !  Then  I  must  see 
if  poor  Mrs.  Beck  has  had  her  leg  comfortably  off,  find  out 
if  Freddy  Lennox  is  dead,  and  order  home  the  mosquito 
aettings.  Now  don't  read  all  the  afternoon,  and  be  ready 
,o  receive  any  one  who  may  come  if  I  should  get  be- 
ated." 

The  necessity  of  disposing  of  a  suspended  mouthful  pro 
duced  a  lull,  and  Sylvia  seized  the  moment  to  ask  in  a 
careless  way,  intended  to  bring  her  brother  out  upon  his 
favorite  topic,  — 

"  How  did  you  find  your  saint,  Mark  ?  " 

"  The  same  sunshiny  soul  as  ever,  though  he  has  had 


26  MOODS. 

enough  to  make  him  old  and  grave  before  his  time.  He  is 
just  what  we  need  in  our  neighborhood,  and  particularly  in 
our  house  *  for  we  .are  a  dismal  set  at  times,  and  he  will  do 
us  all  a  world  of  good." 

"  What  will  become  of  me,  with  a  pious,  prosy,  perfect 
creature  eternally  haunting  the  house  and  exhorting  me  on 
the  error  of  my  ways !  "  cried  Sylvia. 

"  Don't  disturb  yourself ;  he  is  not  likely  to  take  much 
notice  of  you ;  and  it  is  not  for  an  indolent,  freakish  midge 
to  scoff  at  a  man  whom  she  does  not  know,  and  could  n't 
appreciate  if  she  did,"  was  Mark's  lofty  reply. 

"  I  rather  liked  the  appearance  of  the  saint,  however," 
said  Sylvia,  with  an  expression  of  naughty  malice,  as  she 
began  her  lunch. 

"  Why,  where  did  you  see  him  ! "  exclaimed  her  brother. 

"  I  went  over  there  yesterday  to  take  a  farewell  run  in 
the  neglected  garden  before  he  canue.  I  knew  he  was  ex 
pected,  but  not  that  he  was  here  ;  and  when  I  saw  the 
house  open,  I  slipped  in  and  peeped  wherever  I  liked.  You 
are  right,  Prue  ;  it  is  a  lovely  old  place." 

"  Now  I  know  you  did  something  dreadfully  unladylike 
and  improper.  Put  me  out  of  suspense,  I  beg  of  you." 

Prue's  distressful  face  and  Mark's  surprise  produced  an 
inspiring  effect  upon  Sylvia,  who  continued,  with  an  air  of 
demure  satisfaction  — 

"  I  strolled  about,  enjoying  myself,  till  I  got  into  the 
library,  and  there  I  rummaged,  for  it  was  a  charming  place, 
and  I  was  happy  as  only  those  are  who  love  books,  and  feel 
their  influence  in  the  silence  of  a  room  whose  finest  orna 
ments  they  are." 

"  I  hope  Moor  came  in  and  found  you  trespassing  " 

"No,  I  went  out  and  caught  him  playing.     When  I'd 


WHIMS.  27 

stayed  as  long  as  I  dared,  and  borrowed  a  very  interesting 
old  book  — 

"  Sylvia!  did  you  really  take  one  without  asking?" 
cried  Prue,  looking  almost  as  much  alarmed  as  if  she  had 
stolen  the  spoons. 

"  Yes  ;  why  not  ?  I  can  apologize  prettily,  and  it  will 
open  the  way  for  more.  I  intend  to  browse  over  that  library 
for  the  next  six  months." 

"  But  it  was  such  a  liberty,  —  so  rude,  so  — -  dear,  dear ; 
and  he  as  fond  and  careful  of  his  books  as  if  they  were  his 
children  !  Well,  I  wash  my  hands  of  it,  and  am  prepared 
for  anything  now  !  " 

Mark  enjoyed  Sylvia's  pranks  too  much  to  reprove,  so  he 
only  laughed  while  one  sister  lamented  and  the  other  plac 
idly  went  on  — 

"  When  I  had  put  the  book  nicely  in  my  pocket,  Prue,  I 
walked  into  the  garden.  But  before  I'd  picked  a  single 
flower,  I  heard  little  Tilly  laugh  behind  the  hedge  and  some 
strange  voice  talking  to  her.  So  I  hopped  upon  a  roller  to 
see,  and  nearly  tumbled  off  again ;  for  there  was  a  man  lying 
on  the  grass,  with  the  gardener's  children  rioting  over  him. 
Will  was  picking  his  pockets,  and  Tilly  eating  strawberries 
out  of  his  hat,  often  thrusting  one  into  the  mouth  of  her  long 
neighbor,  who  always  smiled  when  the  little  hand  came 
fumbling  at  his  lips.  You  ought  to  have  seen  the  pretty 
picture,  Mark." 

"  Did  he  see  the  interesting  picture  on  your  side  of  the 
wall." 

"  No,  I  was  just  thinking  what  friendly  eyes  he  had, 
listening  to  his  pleasant  talk  with  the  little  folks,  and 
watching  how  they  nestled  to  him  as  if  he  were  a  girl, 
when  Tilly  looked  up  and  cried,  '  I  see  Silver ! '  83  I  ran 


28  MOODS. 

away,  expecting  to  have  them  all  come  racing  after.  But 
no  one  appeared,  and  I  only  heard  a  laugh  instead  of  the 
'  stop  thief  that  I  deserved." 

"  If  I  had  time  I  should  convince  you  of  the  impropriety 
of  such  wild  actions ;  as  I  have  n*t,  I  can  only  implore  you 
never  to  do  so-  again  on  Geoffrey's  premises,"  said  Prue, 
rising  as  the  carriage  drove  round. 

"  I  can  safely  promise  that,"  answered  Sylvia,  with  a 
dismal  shake  of  the  head,  as  she  leaned  listlessly  from  the 
window  till  her  brother  and  sister  were  gone. 

At  the  appointed  time  Moor  entered  Mr.  Yule's  hospitably 
open  door ;  but  no  one  came  to  meet  him,  and  the  house 
was  as  silent  as  if  nothing  human  inhabited  it.  He  divined 
the  cause  of  this,  having  met  Prue  and  Mark  going  town- 
ward  some  hours  before,  and  saying  to  himself,  "  The  boat 
is  late,"  he  disturbed  no  one,  but  strolled  into  the  drawing- 
rooms  and  looked  about  him.  Being  one  of  those  who  sel 
dom  find  time  heavy  on  their  hands,  he  amused  himself 
•with  observing  what  changes  had  been  made  during  his 
absence.  His  journey  round  the  apartments  was  not  a  long 
one,  for,  coming  to  an  open  window,  he  paused  with  an 
expression  of  mingled  wonder  and  amusement. 

A  pile  of  cushions,  pulled  from  chair  and  sofa,  lay 
before  the  long  window,  looking  very  like  a  newly  deserted 
nest.  A  warm-hued  picture  lifted  from  the  wall  stood  in 
a  streak  of  sunshine  ;  a  half-cleared  leaf  of  fruit  lay  on  a 
taboret,  and  beside  it,  with  a  red  stain  on  its  title-page, 
appeared  the  stolen  book.  At  sight  of  this  Moor  frowned, 
caught  up  his  desecrated  darling  and  put  it  in  his  pocket. 
But  as  he  took  another  glance  at  the  various  indications  of 
what  had  evidently  been  a  solitary  revel  very  much  after 
his  own  heart,  he  relented,  laid  back  the  book,  and,  putting 


WHIMS.  29 

aside  the  curtain  floating  in  the  wind,  looked  out  into  the 
garden,  attracted  thither  by  the  sound  of  a  spade. 

A  lad  was  at  work  near  by,  and  wondering  what  new 
inmate  the  house  had  gained,  the  neglected  guest  waited  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  unknown  face.  A  slender  boy,  in  a 
foreign-looking  blouse  of  grey  linen  ;  a  white  collar  lay 
over  a  ribbon  at  the  throat,  stout  half  boots  covered  a  trim 
pair  of  feet,  and  a  broad-brimmed  hat'  napped,  low  on  the 
forehead.  "Whistling  softly  he  dug  with  active  gestures  ; 
and,  having  made  the  necessary  cavity,  set  a  shrub,  filled 
up  the  hole,  trod  it  down  scientifically,  and  then  fell  back 
to  survey  the  success  of  his  labors.  But  something  was 
amiss,  something  had  been  forgotten,  for  suddenly  up  came 
the  shrub,  and  seizing  a  wheelbarrow  that  stood  near  by, 
away  rattled  the  boy  round  the  corner  out  of  sight.  Moor 
smiled  at  his  impetuosity,  and  awaited  his  return  with  in 
terest,  suspecting  from  appearances  that  this  was  some 
protege  of  Mark's  employed  as  a  model  as  well  as  garden 
er's  boy. 

Presently  up  the  path  came  the  lad,  with  head  down  and 
steady  pace,  trundling  a  barrow  full  of  richer  earth,  sur 
mounted  by  a  watering-pot.  Never  stopping  for  breath  he 
fell  to  work  again,  enlarged  the  hole,  flung  in  the  loam, 
poured  in  the  water,  reset  the  shrub,  and  when  the  last 
stamp  and  pat  were  given  performed  a  little  dance  of 
triumph  about  it,  at  the  close' of  which  he  pulled  off  his 
hat  and  began  to  fan  his  heated  face.  The  action  caused 
the  observer  to  start  and  look  again,  thinking,  as  he  recog 
nized  the  energetic  worker  with  a  smile,  "  What  a  change 
ful  thing  it  is !  haunting  one's  premises  unseen,  and  stealing 
one's  books  unsuspected ;  dreaming  one  half  the  day  and 
masquerading  the  other  half.  What  will  happen  next '? 
So 


30  MOODS. 

Let  us  see  but  not  be  seen,  lest  the  boy  turn  shy  and  run 
away  before  the  pretty  play  is  done !  " 

Holding  the  curtain  between  the  window  and  himself, 
Moor  peeped  through  the  semi-transparent  screen,  enjoying 
the  little  episode  immensely.  Sylvia  fanned  and  rested  a 
few  minutes,  then  went  up  and  down  among  the  flowers, 
often  pausing  to  break  a  dead  leaf,  to  brush  away  some 
harmful  insect,  or  lift  some  struggling  plant  into  the  light ; 
moving  among  them  as  if  akin  to  them,  and  cognizant  of 
their  sweet  wants.  If  she  had  seemed  strong-armed  and 
sturdy  as  a  boy  before,  now  she  was  tender  fingered  as  a 
woman,  and  went  humming  here  and  there  like  any  happy- 
hearted  bee. 

"  Curious  child !  "  thought  Moor,  watching  the  sunshine 
glitter  on  her  uncovered  head,  and  listening  to  the  air  she 
left  half  sung.  "  I've  a  great  desire  to  step  out  and  see 
how  she  will  receive  me.  Not  like  any  other  girl,  I  fancy." 

But,  before  he  could  execute  his  design,  the  roll  of  a  car 
riage  was  heard  in  the  avenue,  and  pausing  an  instant,  with 
head  erect  like  a  startled  doe,  Sylvia  turned  and  vanished, 
dropping  flowers  as  she  ran.  Mr.  Yule,  accompanied  by 
his  son  and  daughter,  came  hurrying  in  with  greetings,  ex 
planations,  and  apologies,  and  in  a  moment  the  house  was 
full  of  a  pleasant  stir.  Steps  went  up  and  down,  voices 
echoed  through  the  rooms,  savory  odors  burst  forth  from 
below,  and  doors  swung  in  the  wind,  as  if  the  spell  was 
broken  and  the  sleeping  palace  had  wakened  with  a  word. 

Prue  made  a  hasty  toilet  and  harassed  the  cook  to  the 
verge  of  spontaneous  combustion,  while  Mark  and  his  father 
devoted  themselves  to  their  guest.  Just  as  dinner  was  an 
nounced  Sylvia  came  in,  as  calm  and  cool  as  if  wheelbar 
rows  were  myths  and  linen  suits  unknown.  Moor  waa 


WHIMS.  31 

welcomed  with  a  quiet  hand- shake,  a  grave  salutation,  and 
a  look  that  seemed  to  say,  "  Wait  a  little,  I  take  no  friends 
on  trust" 

All  through  dinner,  though  she  sat  as  silent  as  a  well- 
bred  child,  she  looked  and  listened  with  an  expression  of 
keen  intelligence  that  children  do  not  wear,  and  sometimea 
smiled  to  herself,  as  if  she  saw  or  heard  something  thai 
pleased  and  interested  her.  "When  they  rose  from  table  she 
followed  Prue  up  stairs,  quite  forgetting  the  disarray  in 
which  the  drawing-room  was  left.  The  gentlemen  took 
possession  before  either  sister  returned,  and  Mark's  annoy 
ance  found  vent  in  a  philippic  against  oddities  in  general 
and  Sylvia  in  particular ;  but  his  father  and  friend  sat  in 
the  cushionless  chairs,  and  pronounced  the  scene  amusingly 
novel.  Prue  appeared  in  the  midst  of  the  laugh,  and  having 
discovered  other  delinquencies  above,  her  patience  was  ex 
hausted,  and  her  regrets  found  no  check  in  the  presence  of 
so  old  a  friend  as  Moor. 

"  Something  must  be  done  about  that  child,  father,  for 
she  is  getting  entirely  beyond  my  control.  If  I  attempt 
to  make  her  study  she  writes  poetry  instead  of  her  exercises, 
draws  caricatures  instead  of  sketching  properly,  and  be 
wilders  her  music  teacher  by  asking  questions  about  Beetho 
ven  and  Mendelssohn,  as  if  they  were  personal  friends  of 
his.  If  I  beg  her  to  take  exercise,  she  rides  like  an  Ama 
zon  all  over  the  Island,  grubs  in  the  garden  as  if  for  her 
living,  or  goes  paddling  about  the  bay  till  I'm  distracted 
lest  the  tide  should  carry  her  out  to  sea.  She  is  so  wanting 
in  moderation  she  gets  ill,  and  when  I  give  her  proper 
medicines  she  flings  them  out  of  the  window,  and  threatens 
to  send  that  worthy,  Dr.  Baum,  after  them.  Yet  she  must 
need  something  t)  set  her  right,  for  she  is  either  overflow- 


32  MOODS. 

ing  with  unnatural  spirits  or  melancholy  enough  to  break 
one's  heart." 

"  What  have  you  done  with  the  little  black  sheep  of  my 
flock,  —  not  banished  her,  I  hope  ?  "  said  Mr.  Yule,  placid 
ly,  ignoring  all  complaints. 

"  She  is  in  the  garden,  attending  to  some  of  her  disagree 
able  pets,  I  fancy.  If  you  are  going  out  there  to  smoke, 
please  send  her  in,  Mark  ;  I  want  her." 

As  Mr.  Yule  was  evidently  yearning  for  his  after-dinner 
nap,  and  Mark  for  his  cigar,  Moor  followed  his  friend,  and 
they  stepped  through  the  window  into  the  garden,  now 
lovely  with  the  fading  glow  of  summer  sunset. 

•'  You  must  know  that  this  peculiar  little  sister  of  mine 
clings  to  some  of  her  childish  beliefs  and  pleasures  in  spite 
of  Prucj^s  preaching  and  my  raillery,"  began  Mark,  after  a 
refreshing  whiff  or  two.  "  She  is  overflowing  with  love 
and  good  will,  but  being  too  shy  or  too  proud  to  offer  it  to 
her  fellow-creatures,  she  expends  it  upon  the  necessitous 
inhabitants  of  earth,  air,  and  water  with  the  most  charming 
philanthropy.  Her  dependants  are  neither  beautiful  nor 
very  interesting,  nor  is  she  sentimentally  enamored  of 
them ;  but  the  more  ugly  and  desolate  the  creature,  tho 
more  devoted  is  she.  Look  at  her  now;  most  young 
ladies  would  have  hysterics  over  any  one  of  those  pets 
of  hers." 

Moor  looked,  and  thought  the  group  a  very  pretty  one, 
though  a  plump  toad  sat  at  Sylvia's  feet,  a  roly-poly  cater 
pillar  was  walking  up  her  sleeve,  a  blind  bird  chirped  on 
her  shoulder,  bees  buzzed  harmlessly  about  her  head,  as  if 
they  mistook  her  for  a  flower,  and  in  her  hand  a  little  field 
mouse  was  breathing  its  short  life  away.  Any  tender 
hearted  girl  might  have  stood  thus  surrounded  by  helpless 


WHIMS.  33 

things  that  pity  had  endeared,  but  few  would  hare  regarded 
them  with  an  expression  like  that  which  Sylvia  wore. 
Figure,  posture,  and  employment  were  so  childlike  in  their 
innocent  unconsciousness,  that  the  contrast  was  all  the  more 
strongly  marked  between  them  and  the  sweet  thoughtfulness 
that  made  her  face  singularly  attractive  with  the  charm  of 
dawning  womanhood.  Moor  spoke  before  Mark  could  dis 
pose  of  his  smoke. 

"  This  is  a  great  improvement  upon  the  boudoir  full  of 
lap-dogs,  worsted-work  and  novels,  Miss  Sylvia.  May  I 
ask  if  you  feel  no  repugnance  to  some  of  your  patients ; 
or  is  your  charity  strong  enough  to  beautify  them  all  ?  " 

"  I  dislike  many  people,  but  few  animals,  because  how 
ever  ugly  I  pity  them,  and  whatever  I  pity  I  am  sure  to 
love.  It  may  be  silly,  but  I  think  it  does  me  good  ;  and 
till  I  am  wise  enough  to  help  my  fellow-beings,  I  try  to  do 
my  duty  to  these  humbler  sufferers,  and  find  them  both 
grateful  and  affectionate." 

There  was  something  very  winning  in  the  girl's  manner 
as  she  spoke,  touching  the  little  creature  in  her  hand  almost 
as  tenderly  as  if  it  had  been  a  child.  It  showed  the  new 
comer  another  phase  of  this  many-sided  character;  and 
while  Sylvia  related  the  histories  of  her  pets  at  his  request, 
he  was  enjoying  that  finer  history  which  every  ingenuous 
soul  writes  on  its  owner's  countenance  for  gifted  eyes  to 
read  and  love.  As  she  paused,  the  little  mouse  lay  stark 
and  still  in  her  gentle  hand ;  and  though  they  smiled  at 
themselves,  both  young  men  felt  like  boys  again  as  they 
helped  her  scoop  a  grave  among  the  pansies,  owning  the 
beauty  of  compassion,  though  she  showed  it  to  them  in 
such  a  simple  shape. 

Then  Mark  delivered  his  message,  and  Sylvia  went  away 


34  MOODS. 

to  receive  Prue'a  lecture,  with  outward  meekness,  but  such 
an  absent  mind  that  the  words  of  wisdom  went  by  her  like 
the  wind. 

"  Now  come  and  take  our  twilight  stroll,  while  Mark 
keeps  Mr.  Moor  in  the  studio  and  Prue  prepares  another 
exhortation,"  said  Sylvia,  as  her  father  woke,  and  taking 
his  arm,  they  paced  along  the  wide  piazza  that  encircled 
the  whole  house. 

"  Will  father  do  me  a  little  favor  ?  " 

"  That  is  all  he  lives  for,  dear." 

"  Then  his  life  is  a  very  successful  one  ;  "  and  the  girl 
folded  her  other  hand  over  that  already  on  his  arm.  Mr. 
Yule  shook  his  head  with  a  regretful  sigh,  but  asked  be 
nignly  — 

"  What  shall  I  do  for  my  little  daughter  ?  " 

"  Forbid  Mark  to  execute  a  plot  with  which  he  threatens 
me.  He  says  he  will  bring  every  gentleman  he  knows  (and 
that  is  a  great  many)  to  the  house,  and  make  it  so  agreeable 
that  they  will  keep  coming ;  for  he  insists  that  I  need 
amusement,  and  nothing  will  be  so  entertaining  as  a  lover 
or  two.  Please  tell  him  not  to,  for  I  don't  want  any  lovers 
yet." 

"Why  not? "asked  her  father,  much  amused  at  her 
twilight  confidences. 

"  I'm  afraid.  Love  is  so  cruel  to  some  people,  I  feel  as 
if  it  would  be  to  me,  for  I  am  always  in  extremes,  and  con 
tinually  going  wrong  while  trying  to  go  right.  Love  be 
wilders  the  wisest,  and  it  would  make  me  quite  blind  or 
mad,  I  know;  therefore  I'd  rather  have  nothing  to  do  with 
it,  for  a  long,  long  while." 

"Then  Mark  shall  be  forbidden  to  bring  a  single  speci 
men.  I  very  much  prefer  to  keep  you  as  you  are.  And 


WHIMS.  35 

yet  you  may  be  happier  to  do  as  others  do  ;  try  it,  if  you 
like,  my  dear." 

"  But  I  can't  do  as  others  do  ;  I've  tried,  and  failed. 
Last  winter,  when  Prue  made  me  go  about,  though  people 
probably  thought  me  a  stupid  little  thing,  moping  in  cor 
ners,  I  was  enjoying  myself  in  my  own  way,  and  making 
discoveries  that  have  been  very  useful  ever  since.  I  know 
I'm  whimsical,  and  hard  to  please,  and  "have  no  doubt  the 
fault  was  in  myself,  but  I  was  disappointed  in  nearly  every 
one  I  met,  though  I  went  into  what  Prue  calls  '  our  best 
society.'  The  girls  seemed  all  made  on  the  same  pattern  ; 
they  all  said,  did,  thought,  and  wore  about  the  same  things, 
and  knowing  one  was  as  good  as  knowing  a  dozen.  Jessie 
Hope  was  the  only  one  I  cared  much  for,  and  she  is  so 
pretty,  she  seems  made  to  be  looked  at  and  loved." 

"  How  did  you  find  the  young  gentlemen,  Sylvia  ?  " 

"  Still  worse ;  for,  though  lively  enough  among  them 
selves,  they  never  found  it  worth  their  while  to  offer  us  an; 
conversation  but  such  as  was  very  like  the  champagne  an*' 
ice-cream  they  brought  us,  —  sparkling,  sweet,  and  unsub 
stantial.  Almost  all  of  them  wore  the  superior  air  they  put 
on  before  women,  an  air  that  says  as  plainly  as  words,  « I 
may  ask  you  and  I  may  not.'  Now  that  is  very  exasperating 
to  those  who  care  no  more  for  them  than  so  many  grass 
hoppers,  and  I  often  longed  to  take  the  conceit  out  of  them 
by  telling  some  of  the  criticisms  passed  upon  them  by  the 
amiable  young  ladies  who  looked  as  if  waiting  to  say  meek 
ly,  '  Yes,  thank  you.'  " 

"  Don't  excite  yourself,  my  dear ;  it  is  all  very  lament 
able  and  laughable,  but  we  must  submit  till  the  world  learna 
better.  There  are  often  excellent  young  persons  among  the 
s  grasshoppers,'  and  if  you  cared  to  look  you  might  find  s 


30  MOODS. 

pleasant  friend  here  and  there,"  said  Mr.  Yule,  leaning 
a  little  toward  his  son's  view  of  the  matter. 

"  No,  I  cannot  even  do  that  without  being  laughed  at ; 
for  no  sooner  do  I  mention  the  word  friendship  than  people 
nod  wisely  and  look  as  if  they  said,  '  Oh,  yes,  every  one 
knows  what  that  sort  of  thing  amounts  to.'  I  should  like 
a  friend,  father  ;  some  one  beyond  home,  because  he  would 
0e  newer;  a  man  (old  or  young,  I  don't  care  which),  be 
cause  men  go  where  they  like,  see  things  with  their  own 
«yes,  and  have  more  to  tell  if  they  choose.  I  want  a  person 
simple,  wise,  and  entertaining ;  and  I  think  I  should  make 
a  very  grateful  friend  if  such  an  one  was  kind  enough  to 
like  me." 

"  I  think  you  would,  and  perhaps  if  you  try  to  be  more 
like  others  you  will  find  friends  as  they  do,  and  so  be  happy, 
Sylvia." 

"  I  cannot  be  like  others,  and  their  friendships  would 
not  satisfy  me.  I  don't  try  to  be  odd ;  I  long  to  be  quiet 
and  satisfied,  but  I  cannot ;  and  when  I  do  what  Prue  calls 
wild  things,  it  is  not  because  I  am  thoughtless  or  idle,  but 
because  I  am  trying  to  be  good  and  happy.  The  old  ways 
fail,  so  I  attempt  new  ones,  hoping  they  will  succeed  ;  but 
they  don't,  and  I  still  go  looking  and  longing  for  happiness, 
yet  always  failing  to  find  it,  till  sometimes  I  think  I  am  a 
born  disappointment." 

"  Perhaps  love  would  bring  the  happiness,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  I  'm  afraid  not ;  but,  however  that  may  be,  I  shall 
never  go  running  about  for  a  lover  as  half  my  mates  do. 
"When  the  true  one  comes  I  shall  know  him,  love  him  at 
once,  and  cling  to  him  forever,  no  matter  what  may  happen. 
Till  then  I  want  a  friend,  and  I  will  find  one  if  1  can. 
Don't  you  believe  there  may  be  real  and  simple  friendships 


WHIMS.  37 

between  men  and  women  without  falling  into  this  everlast 
ing  sea  of  love  ?  " 

Mr.  Yule  was  laughing  quietly  under  cover  of  the  dark 
ness,  but  composed  himself  to  answer  gravely  — 

"  Yes,  for  some  of  the  most  beautiful  and  famous  friend 
ships  have  been  such,  and  I  see  no  reason  why  there  may 
not  be  again.  Look  about,  Sylvia,  make  yourself  happy ; 
and,  whether  you  find  friend  or  lover,  remember  there  is 
always  the  old  Papa  glad  to  do  his  best  for  you  in  both 
capacities." 

Sylvia's  hand  crept  to  her  father's  shoulder,  and  her  voice 
was  full  of  daughterly  atfection,  as  she  said  — 

"I'll  have  no  lover  but  « the  old  Papa'  for  a  long  while 
yet.  But  I  will  look  about,  and  if  I  am  fortunate  enough 
to  find  and  good  enough  to  keep  the  person  I  want,  I  shall 
be  very  happy ;  for,  father,  I  really  think  I  need  a  friend." 

Here  Mark  called  his  sister  in  to  sing  to  them,  a  demand 
that  would  have  been  refused  but  for  a  promise  to  Prue  to 
behave  her  best  as  an  atonement  for  past  pranks.  Stepping 
in  she  sat  down  and  gave  Moor  another  surprise,  as  from 
her  slender  throat  there  came  a  voice  whose  power  and 
pathos  made  a  tragedy  of  the  simple  ballad  she  was  singing. 

"Why  did  you  choose  that  plaintive  thing,  all  about 
love,  despair,  and  death?  It  quite  breaks  one's  heart  to 
hear  it,"  said  Prue,  pausing  in  a  mental  estimate  of  her 
morning's  shopping. 

"  It  came  into  my  head,  and  so  I  sung  it.  Now  I'll  try 
another,  for  I  am  bound  to  please  you —  if  I  can."  And 
she  broke  out  again  with  an  airy  melody  as  jubilant  as  if  a 
lark  had  mistaken  moonlight  for  the  dawn  and  soared  sky 
ward,  singing  as  it  went.  So  blithe  and  beautiful  were 
both  voice  and  song  they  caused  a  sigh  of  pleasure,  a  sen- 


38  MOODS. 

sation  of  keen  delight  in  the  listener,  and  seemed  to  gift 
the  singer  with  an  unsuspected  charm.  As  she  ended 
Sylvia  turned  about,  and  seeing  the  satisfaction  of  their 
guest  in  his  face,  prevented  him  from  expressing  it  in  words 
by  saying,  in  her  frank  way  — 

"  Never  mind  the  compliments.  I  know  my  voice  is 
good,  for  that  you  may  thank  nature ;  that  it  is  well  trained, 
for  that  praise  Herr  Pedalsturm ;  and  that  you  have  heard 
it  at  all,  you  owe  to  my  desire  to  atone  for  certain  trespasses 
of  yesterday  and  to-day,  because  I  seldom  sing  before 
strangers." 

"  Allow  me  to  offer  my  hearty  thanks  to  Nature,  Pedal 
sturm,  and  Penitence,  and  also  to  hope  that  in  time  I  may 
be  regarded,  not  as  a  stranger,  but  a  neighbor  and  a  friend.'* 

Something  in  the  gentle  emphasis  of  the  last  word  struck 
pleasantly  on  the  girl's  ear,  and  seemed  to  answer  an  un 
spoken  longing.  She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  searching 
glance,  appeared  to  find  some  'assurance  given  by  looks,' 
and  as  a  smile  broke  over  her  face  she  offered  her  hand  as 
if  obeying  a  sudden  impulse,  and  said,  half  to  him,  half  to 
herself — 

"  I  think  I  have  found  the  friend  already." 


CHAPTER  III. 

AFLOAT. 

SYLVIA  sat  sewing  in  the  sunshine  with  an  expression  on 
her  face  half  mirthful,  half  melancholy,  as  she  looked 
backward  to  the  girlhood  just  ended,  and  forward  to  the 
womanhood  just  beginning,  for  on  that  midsummer  day,  she 
was  eighteen.  Voices  roused  her  from  her  reverie,  and,  look 
ing  up,  she  saw  her  brother  approaching  with  two  friends, 
their  neighbor  Geoffrey  Moor  and  his  guest  Adam  Warwick. 
Her  first  impulse  was  to  throw  down  her  work  and  run  to 
meet  them,  her  second  to  remember  her  new  dignity  and  sit 
still,  awaiting  them  with  well-bred  composure,  quite  uncon- 
cious  that  the  white  figure  among  the  vines  added  a  pictur 
esque  finish  to  the  quiet  summer  scene. 

They  came  up  warm  and  merry,  with  a  brisk  row  across 
the  bay,  and  Sylvia  met  them  with  a  countenance  that  gave 
a  heartier  welcome  than  her  words,  as  she  greeted  the 
neighbor  cordially,  the  stranger  courteously,  and  began  to 
gather  up  her  work  when  they  seated  themselves  in  the  bam 
boo  chairs  scattered  about  the  wide  piazza. 

"  You  need  not  disturb  yourself,"  said  Mark,  "  we  are  only 
making  this  a  way-station,  en  route  for  the  studio.  Can 
you  tell  me  where  my  knapsack  is  to  be  found  ?  after  one 
of  Prue's  stowages,  nothing  short  of  a  divining-rod  will 
discover  it,  I'm  afraid." 


40  MOODS. 

"  I  know  where  it  is.  Are  you  going  away  again  so  soon, 
Mark?" 

"  Only  a  two  days'  trip  up  the  river  with  these  mates  of 
mine.  No,  Sylvia,  it  can't  be  done." 

"  I  did  not  say  anything." 

"  Not  in  words,  but  you  looked  a  whole  volley  of  '  Can't 
I  goes  ?  '  and  I  answered  it.  No  girl  but  you  would  dream 
of  such  a  thing ;  you  hate  picnics,  and  as  this  will  be  a  long 
and  rough  one,  don't  you  see  how  absurd  it  would  be  for 
you  to  try  it?" 

"  I  don't  quite  see  it,  Mark,  for  this  would  not  be  an  or 
dinary  picnic ;  it  would  be  like  a  little  romance  to  me,  and 
I  had  rather  have  it  than  any  birthday  present  you  could 
give  me.  We  used  to  have  such  happy  times  together 
before  we  were  grownup,  I  don't  like  to  be  so  separated  now. 
But  if  it  is  not  best,  I'm  sorry  that  I  even  looked  a  wish." 

Sylvia  tried  to  keep  both  disappointment  and  desire  out 
of  her  voice  as  she  spoke,  though  a  most  intense  longing  had 
taken  possession  of  her  when  she  heard  of  a  projected  pleas 
ure  so  entirely  after  her  own  heart.  But  there  was  an 
unconscious  reproach  in  her  last  worda  a  mute  appeal  in 
the  wistful  eyes  that  looked  across  the  glittering  bay  to  the 
green  hills  beyond.  Now,  Mark  was  both  fond  and  proud  of 
the  young  sister,  who,  while  he  was  studying  art  abroad, 
had  studied  nature  at  home,  till  the  wayward  but  winning 
child  had  bloomed  into  a  most  attractive  girl.  He  remem 
bered  her  devotion  to  him,  his  late  neglect  of  her,  and 
longed  to  make  atonement.  With  elevated  eyebrows  and 
inquiring  glances,  he  turned  from  one  friend  to  another. 
Moor  nodded  and  smiled,  Warwick  nodded,  and  sighed  pri 
vately,  and  having  taken  the  sense  of  the  meeting  by  a  new 
style  of  vote,  Mark  suddenly  announced  — 


AFLOAT.  41 

"  You  can  go  if  you  like,  Sylvia." 

"  What !  "  cried  his  sister,  starting  up  with  a  character 
istic  impetuosity  that  sent  her  basket  tumbling  down  the 
steps,  and  crowned  her  dozing  cat  with  Prue's  nightcap 
frills.  "Do  you  mean  it,  Mark?  Wouldn't  it  spoil  your 
pleasure,  Mr.  Moor  ?  Should  n't  I  be  a  trouble,  Mr.  War 
wick  ?  Tell  me  frankly,  for  if  I  can  go  I  shall  be  happier 
than  I  can  express." 

The  gentlemen  smiled  at  her  eagerness,  but  as  they  saw 
the  altered  face  she  turned  toward  them,  each  felt  already 
repaid  for  any  loss  of  freedom  they  might  experience  here 
after,  and  gave  unanimous  consent.  Upon  receipt  of  which 
Sylvia  felt  inclined  to  dance  about  the  three  and  bless  them 
audibly,  but  restrained  herself,  and  beamed  upon  them  in 
a  state  of  wordless  gratitude  pleasant  to  behold.  Having 
given  a  rash  consent,  Mark  now  thought  best  to  offer  a  few 
obstacles  to  enhance  its  value  and  try  his  sister's  mettle. 

"Don't  ascend  into  the  air  like  a  young  balloon,  child, 
but  hear  the  conditions  upon  which  you  go,  for  if  you  fail 
to  work  three  miracles  it  is  all  over  with  you.  Firstly,  the 
consent  of  the  higher  powers,  for  father  will  dread  all  sorts 
of  dangers  you  are  such  a  freakish  creature,  and  Prue  will 
be  scandalized  because  trips  like  this  are  not  the  fashion  for 
young  ladies." 

"  Consider  that  point  settled  and  go  on  to  the  next,"  said 
Sylvia,  who,  having  ruled  the  house  ever  since  she  was 
born,  had  no  fears  of  success  with  either  father  or  sister. 

"  Secondly,  you  must  do  yourself  up  in  as  compact  a 
parcel  as  possible ;  for  though  you  little  women  are  very 
ornamental  on  land,  you  are  not  very  convenient  for  trans 
portation  by  water.  Cambric  gowns  and  French  slippers 
are  highly  appropriate  and  agreeable  at  the  present  moment, 
40 


42  MOODS. 

but  must  be  sacrificed  to  the  stern  necessities  of  the  case. 
You  must  make  a  dowdy  of  yourself  in  some  usefully  short, 
scant,  dingy  costume,  which  will  try  the  nerves  of  all 
beholders,  and  triumphantly  prove  that  women  were  never 
meant  for  such  excursions."  - 

"  Wait  five  minutes  and  I'll  triumphantly  prove  to  the 
contrary,"  answered  Sylvia,  as  she  ran  into  the  house. 

Her  five  minutes  was  sufficiently  elastic  to  cover  fifteen, 
for  she  was  ravaging  her  wardrobe  to  effect  her  purpose 
and  convince  her  brother,  whose  artistic  tastes  she  con- 
suited,  with  a  skill  that  did  her  good  service  in  the  end. 
Rapidly  assuming  a  gray  gown,  with  a  jaunty  jacket  of  the 
same,  she  kilted  the  skirt  over  one  of  green,  the  pedestrian 
length  of  which  displayed  boots  of  uncompromising  thick 
ness.  Over  her  shoulder,  by  a  broad  ribbon,  she  slung  a 
prettily  wrought  pouch,  and  ornamented  her  hat  pilgrim- 
wise  with  a  cockle  shell.  Then  taking  her  brother's  alpen 
stock  she  crept  down,  and  standing  in  the  door-way  pre 
sented  a  little  figure  all  in  gray  and  green,  like  the  earth 
she  was  going  to  wander  over,  and  a  face  that  blushed  and 
smiled  and  shone  as  she  asked  demurely  — 

"  Please,  Mark,  am  I  picturesque  and  convenient  enough 
to  go  ?  " 

He  wheeled  about  and  stared  approvingly,  forgetting 
cause  in  effect  till  Warwick  began  to  laugh  like  a  merry 
bass  viol,  and  Moor  joined  him,  saying  — 

"  Come,  Mark,  own  that  you  are  conquered,  and  let  us 
turn  our  commonplace  voyage  into  a  pleasure  pilgrim 
age,  with  a  lively  lady  to  keep  us  knights  and  gentlemen 
wherever  we  are." 

"  I  say  no  more ;  only  remember,  Sylvia,  if  you  get 
burnt,  drowned,  or  blown  away,  I'm  not  responsible  for  the 


AFLOAT.  43 

damage,  and  shall  have  the  satisfaction  of  saying,  '  There, 
I  told  you  so.'  " 

"  That  satisfaction  may  be  mine  when  I  come  home  quite 
safe  and  well,"  replied  Sylvia,  serenely.  "  Now  for  the  last 
condition." 

Warwick  looked  with  interest  from  the  sister  to  the 
orother ;  for,  being  a  solitary  man,  domestie  scenes  and 
relations  possessed  the  charm  of  novelty  to  him. 

"  Thirdly,  you  are  not  to  carry  a  boat-load  of  luggage, 
cloaks,  pillows,  silver  forks,  or  a  dozen  napkins,  but  are  to 
fare  as  we  fare,  sleeping  in  hammocks,  barns,  or  on  the 
bare  ground,  without  shrieking  at  bats  or  bewailing  the 
want  of  mosquito  netting  ;  eating  when,  where,  and  what  is 
most  convenient,  and  facing  all  kinds  of  weather  regard 
less  of  complexion,  dishevelnient,  and.  fatigue.  If  you  can 
promise  all  this,  be  here  loaded  and  ready  to  go  off  at  six 
o'clock  to-morrow  morning." 

After  which  cheerful  picture  of  the  joys  to  come,  Mark 
marched  away  to  his  studio,  taking  his  friends  with  him. 

Sylvia  worked  the  three  miracles,  and  at  half  past  five, 
A.  M.  was  discovered  sitting  on  the  piazza,  with  her  ham 
mock  rolled  into  a  twine  sausage  at  her  feet,  her  hat  firmly 
tied  on,  her  scrip  packed,  and  her  staff  in  her  hand. 
"  Waiting  till  called  for,"  she  said,  as  her  brother  passed 
her,  late  and  yawning  as  usual.  As  the  clock  struck  six 
the  carriage  drove  round,  and  Moor  and  Warwick  came  up 
the  avenue  in  nautical  array.  Then  arose  a  delightful 
clamor  of  voices,  slamming  of  doors,  hurrying  of  feet  and 
frequent  peals  of  laughter ;  for  every  one  was  in  holiday 
spirits,  and  the  morning  seemed  made  for  pleasuring. 

Mr.  Yule  regarded  the  voyagers  with  an  aspect  as  benign 
as  the  summer  sky  overhead  ;  Prue  ran  to  and  fro  pouring 


44  MOODS. 

forth  a  stream  of  counsels,  warnings,  and  predictions ;  men 
and  maids  gathered  on  the  lawn  or  hung  out  of  upper  win 
dows  ;  and  even  old  Hecate,  the  cat,  was  seen  chasing  im 
aginary  rats  and  mice  in  the  grass  till  her  yellow  eyes 
glared  with  excitement.  "All  in,"  was  announced  at  last, 
and  as  the  carriage  rolled  away  its  occupants  looked  at  one 
another  with  faces  of  blithe  satisfaction  that  their  pilgrim 
age-was  so  auspiciously  begun. 

A  mile  or  more  up  the  river  the  large,  newly-painted 
boat  awaited  them.  The  embarkation  was  a  speedy  one, 
for  the  cargo  was  soon  stowed  in  lockers  and  under  seats, 
Sylvia  forwarded  to  her  place  in  the  bow ;  Mark,  as  com 
mander  of  the  craft,  took  the  helm  ;  Moor  and  Warwick, 
as  crew,  sat  waiting  orders ;  and  Hugh,  the  coachman, 
stood  ready  to  push  off  at  word  of  command.  Presently  it 
came,  a  strong  hand  sent  them  rustling  through  the  flags, 
down  dropped  the  uplifted  oars,  and  with  a  farewell  cheer 
from  a  group  upon  the  shore  the  Kelpie  glided  out  into  the 
stream. 

Sylvia,  too  full  of  genuine  content  to  talk,  sat  listening 
to  the  musical  dip  of  well-pulled  oars,  watching  the  green 
banks  on  either  side,  dabbling  her  hands  in  the  eddies  as 
they  rippled  by,  and  singing  to  the  wind,  as  cheerful  and 
serene  as  the  river  that  gave  her  back  a  smiling  image  of 
herself.  What  her  companions  talked  of  she  neither  heard 
nor  cared  to  know,  for  she  was  looking  at  the  great  picture- 
book  that  always  lies  ready  for  the  turning  of  the  youngest 
or  the  oldest  hands ;  was  receiving  the  welcome  of  the  play 
mates  she  best  loved,  and  was  silently  yielding  herself  to 
the  power  which  works  all  wonders  with  its  benignant 
magic.  Hour  after  hour  she  journeyed  along  that  fluent 
road.  Under  bridges  where  early  fishers  lifted  up  their 


AFLOAT.  45 

lines  to  let  them  through  ;  past  gardens  tilled  by  unskilful 
townsmen  who  harvested  an  hour  of  strength  to  pay  the 
daily  tax  the  city  levied  on  them  ;  past  honeymoon  cottages 
where  young  wives  walked  with  young  husbands  in  the 
dew,  or  great  houses  shut  against  the  morning.  Lovers 
came  floating  down  the  stream  with  masterless  rudder  and 
trailing  oars.  College  race-boats  shot  by  with  modern 
Greek  choruses  in  full  blast  and  the  frankest  criticisms  from 
their  sciontific  crews.  Fathers  went  rowing  to  and  fro  with 
argosies  of  pretty  children,  who  gave  them  gay  good  mor 
rows.  Sometimes  they  met  fanciful  nutshells  manned  by 
merry  girls,  who  made  for  shore  at  sight  of  them  with  most 
erratic  movements  and  novel  commands  included  in  their 
Art  of  Navigation.  Now  and  then  some  poet  or  philoso 
pher  went  musing  by,  fishing  for  facts  or  fictions,  where 
other  men  catch  pickerel  or  perch. 

All  manner  of  sights  and  sounds  greeted  Sylvia,  and  she 
felt  as  if  she  were  watching  a  Panorama  painted  in  water 
colors  by  an  artist  who  had  breathed  into  his  work  the 
breath  of  life  and  given  each  figure  power  to  play  its  part. 
Never  had  human  faces  looked  so  lovely  to  her  eye,  for 
morning  beautified  the  plainest  with  its  ruddy  kiss  ;  never 
had  human  voices  sounded  so  musical  to  her  ear,  for  daily 
cares  had  not  yet  brought  discord  to  the  instruments  tuned 
by  sleep  and  touched  by  sunshine  into  pleasant  sound  ; 
never  had  the  whole  race  seemed  so  near  and  dear  to  her, 
for  she  was  unconsciously  pledging  all  she  met  in  that 
genuine  Elixir  Vitse  which  sets  the  coldest  blood  aglow 
and  makes  the  whole  world  kin ;  never  had  she  felt  so 
truly  her  happiest  self,  for  of  all  the  costlier  pleasures  she 
had  known  not  one  had  been  so  congenial  as  this,  as  she 
rippled  farther  and  farther  up  the  stvp.»^i  and  seemed  to 


46  MOODS. 

float  into  a  world  whose  airs  brought  only  health  and  peace. 
Her  comrades  wisely  left  her  to  her  thoughts,  a  smiling 
Silence  for  their  figure-head,  and  none  among  them  but 
found  the  day  fairer  and- felt  himself  fitter  to  enjoy  it  for 
the  innocent  companionship  of  maidenhood  and  a  happy 
heart. 

At  noon  they  dropped  anchor  under  a  wide- spreading 
oak  that  stood  on  the  river's  edge,  a  green  tent  for  wander 
ers  like  themselves ;  there  they  ate  their  first  meal  spread 
among  white  clovers,  with  a  pair  of  squirrels  staring  at 
them  as  curiously  as  human  spectators  ever  watched  royalty 
at  dinner,  while  several  meek  cows  courteously  left  their 
guests  the  shade  and  went  away  to  dine  at  a  side-table 
spread  in  the  sun.  They  spent  an  hour  or  two  talking  or 
drowsing  luxuriously  on  the  grass ;  then  the  springing  up 
of  a  fresh  breeze  roused  them  all,  and  weighing  anchor  they 
set  sail  for  another  port. 

Now  Sylvia  saw  new  pictures,  for,  leaving  all  traces  of  the 
city  behind  them,  they  went  swiftly  country  ward.  Some 
times  by  hayfields,  each  an  idyl  in  itself,  with  white-sleeved 
mowers  all  arow ;  the  pleasant  sound  of  whetted  scythes ; 
great  loads  rumbling  up  lanes,  with  brown-faced  children 
shouting  atop  ;  rosy  girls  raising  fragrant  winrows  or  bring 
ing  water  for  thirsty  sweethearts  leaning  on  their  rakes.  Of- 
ten  they  saw  ancient  farm-houses  with  mossy  roofs,  and  long 
well-sweeps  suggestive  of  fresh  draughts,  and  the  drip  of 
brimming  pitchers  ;  orchards  and  cornfields  rustling  on  either 
hand,  and  grandmotherly  caps  at  the  narrow  windows,  or  stout 
matrons  tending  babies  in  the  doorway  as  they  watched 
smaller  selves  playing  keep  house  under  the  "  laylocks  " 
by  the  wall.  Villages,  like  white  flocks,  slept  on  the  hill, 
sides;  martinbox  schoolhouses  appeared  here  and  there. 


AFLOAT.  47 

astir  with  busy  voices,  alive  with  wistful  eyes ;  and  more 
than  once  they  cauie  upon  little  mermen  bathing,  who  dived 
with  sudden  splashes,  like  a  squad  of  turtles  tumbling  off  a 
sunny  rock. 

Then  they  went  floating  under  vernal  arches,  where 
a  murmurous  rustle  seemed  to  whisper,  "Stay!"  along 
shadowless  sweeps,  where  the  blue  turned  to  gold  and  daz 
zled  with  its  unsteady  shimmer ;  passed  islands  so  full  of 
birds  they  seemed  green  cages  floating  in  the  sun,  or  doubled 
capes  that  opened  long  vistas  of  light  and  shade,  through 
which  they  sailed  into  the  pleasant  land  where  summer 
reigned  supreme.  To  Sylvia  it  seemed  as  if  the  inhabitants 
of  these  solitudes  had  flocked  down  to  the  shore  to  greet 
her  as  she  came.  Fleets  of  lilies  unfurled  their  sails  on 
either  hand,  and  cardinal  flowers  waved  their  scarlet  flags 
among  the  green.  The  sagitaria  lifted  its  blue  spears  from 
arrowy  leaves ;  wild  roses  smiled  at  her  with  blooming 
faces ;  meadow  lilies  rang  their  flame-colored  bells ;  and 
clematis  and  ivy  hung  garlands  everywhere,  as  if  hers  were 
a  floral  progress,  and  each  came  to  do  her  honor. 

Her  neighbors  kept  up  a  flow  of  conversation  as  steady 
as  the  river's,  and  Sylvia  listened  now.  Insensibly  the 
changeful  scenes  before  them  recalled  others,  and  in  the 
friendly  atmosphere  that  surrounded  them  these  reminis 
cences  found  free  expression.  Each  of  the  three  had  been 
fortunate  in  seeing  much  of  foreign  life ;  each  had  seen  a 
different  phase  of  it,  and  all  were  young  enough  to  be  still 
enthusiastic,  accomplished  enough  to  serve  up  their  recollec 
tions  with  taste  and  skill,  and  give  Sylvia  glimpses  of  the 
world  through  spectacles  sufficiently  rose-colored  to  lend  it 
the  warmth  which  even  Truth  allows  to  her  sister  Romance. 

The  wind  served  ttiem  till  sunset,  then  the  sail  was  low- 


48  MOODS. 

ered  and  the  rowers  took  to  their  oars.  Sylvia  demanded 
her  turn,  and  wrestled  with  one  big  oar  while  Warwick  sat 
behind  and  did  the  work.  Having  blistered  her  hands  and 
given  herself  as  fine  a  color  as  any  on  her  brother's  palette, 
she  professed  herself  satisfied,  and  went  back  to  her  seat 
to  watch  the  evening-red  transfigure  earth  and  sky,  mak 
ing  the  river  and  its  banks  a  more  royal  pageant  than 
splendor-loving  Elizabeth  ever  saw  along  the  Thames. 

Anxious  to  reach  a  certain  point,  they  rowed  on  into  the 
twilight,  growing  stiller  and  stiller  as  the  deepening  hush 
seemed  to  hint  that  Nature  was  at  her  prayers.  Slowly  the 
Kelpie  floated  along  the  shadowy  way,  and  as  the  shores 
grew  dim,  the  river  dark  with  leaning  hemlocks  or  an  over 
hanging  cliff,  Sylvia  felt  as  if  she  were  making  the  last 
voyage  across  that  fathomless  stream  where  a  pale  boatman 
plies  and  many  go  lamenting. 

The  long  silence  was  broken  first  by  Moor's  voice,  saying  — 

"  Adam,  sing." 

If  the  influences  of  the  hour  had  calmed  Mark,  touched 
Sylvia,  and  made  Moor  long  for  music,  they  had  also  soft 
ened  Warwick.  Leaning  on  his  oar  he  lent  the  music  of  a 
mellow  voice  to  the  words  of  a  German  Volksleid,  and 
launched  a  fleet  of  echoes  such  as  any  tuneful  vintager 
might  have  sent  floating  down  the  Ehine.  Sylvia  was  no 
weeper,  but  as  she  listened,  all  the  day's  happiness  which 
had  been  pent  up  in  her  heart  found  vent  in  sudden  tears, 
that  streamed  down  noiseless  and  refreshing  as  a  warm 
south  rain.  Why  they  came  she  could  not  tell,  for  neither 
song  nor  singer  possessed  the  power  to  win  so  rare  a 
tribute,  and  at  another  time,  she  would  have  restrained  all 
visible  expression  of  this  indefinable  yet  sweet  emotion. 
Mark  and  Moor  had  joined  in  the  burden  of  the  song,  and 


4FLOAT.  49 

when  that  was  done  took  up  another ;  but  Sylvia  only 
eat  and  let  her  tears  flow  while  they  would,  singing  at 
heart,  though  her  eyes  were  full  and  her  cheeks  wet  faster 
than  the  wind  could  kiss  them  dry. 

After  frequent  peerings  and  tackings  here  and  there, 
Mark  at  last  discovered  the  haven  he  desired,  and  with 
much  rattling  of  oars,  clanking  of  chains,  and  splashing 
of  impetuous  boots,  a  landing  was  effected,  and  Sylvia 
found  herself  standing  on  a  green  bank  with  her  hammock 
in  her  arms  and  much  wonderment  in  her  mind  whether  the 
nocturnal  experiences  in  store  for  her'  would  prove  as  agree 
able  as  the  daylight  ones  had  been.  Mark  and  Moor  un 
loaded  the  boat  and  prospected  for  an  eligible  sleeping-place. 
Warwick,  being  an  old  campaigner,  set  about  building  a 
fire,  and  the  girl  began  her  sylvan  housekeeping.  The 
scene  rapidly  brightened  into  light  and  color  as  the  blaze 
sprang,  up,  showing  the  little  kettle  slung  gipsywise  on 
forked  sticks,  and  the  supper  prettily  set  forth  in  a  leafy 
table-service  on  a  smooth,  flat  stone.  Soon  four  pairs  of 
wet  feet  surrounded  the  fire  ;  an  agreeable  oblivion  of  meum 
and  tuum  concerning  plates,  knives,  and  cups  did  away  with 
etiquette,  and  everyone  was  in  a  comfortable  state  of  weari 
ness,  which  rendered  the  thought  of  bed  so  pleasant  that 
they  deferred  their  enjoyment  of  the  reality,  as  children 
keep  the  best  bite  till  the  last. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of  here  all  by  yourself?"  asked 
Mark,  coming  to  lounge  on  his  sister's  plaid,  which  she  had 
spread  somewhat  apart  from  the  others,  and  where  she  sat 
watching  the  group  before  her  with  a  dreamy  aspect. 

"  I  was  watching  your  two  friends.  See  what  a  fine  study 
they  make  with  the  red  flicker  of  the  fire  on  their  faces  and 
the  background  of  dark  pines  behind  them." 


50  MOODS. 

They  did  make  a  fine  study,  for  both  were  goodly  men 
yet  utterly  unlike,  one  being  of  the  heroic  type,  the  other 
of  the  poetic.  Warwick  was  a  head  taller  than  his  tall 
friend,  broad-shouldered,  strong-limbed,  and  bronzed  by 
wind  and  weather.  A  massive  head,  covered  with  rings  of 
ruddy  brown  hair,  gray  eyes,  that  seemed  to  pierce  through 
all  disguises,  an  eminent  nose,  and  a  beard  like  one  of 
Mark's  stout  saints.  Power,  intellect,  and  courage  were 
stamped  on  face  and  figure,  making  him  the  manliest  man 
that  Sylvia  had  ever  seen.  He  leaned  against  the  stone, 
yet  nothing  could  have  been  less  reposeful  than  his  attitude, 
for  the  native  unrest  of  the  man  asserted  itself  in  spite  of 
weariness  or  any  soothing  influence  of  time  or  place.  Moor 
was  much  slighter,  and  betrayed  in  every  gesture  the  uncon 
scious  grace  of  the  gentleman  born.  A  most  attractive 
face,  with  its  broad  brow,  serene  eyes,  and  the  cordial  smile 
about  the  mouth.  A  sweet,  strong  nature,  one  would  say, 
which,  having  used  life  well  had  learned  the  secret  of  a 
true  success.  Inward  tranquillity  seemed  his,  and  it  was 
plain  to  see  that  no  wave  of  sound,  no  wandering  breath, 
no  glimpse  of  color,  no  hint  of  night  or  nature  was  without 
its  charm  and  its  significance  for  him. 

44  Tell  me  about  that  man.  Mark.  I  have  heard  you  speak 
of  him  since  you  came  home,  but  supposing  he  was  some 
blowzy  artist,  I  never  cared  to  ask  about  him.  Now  I've 
seen  him,  I  want  to  know  more,"  said  Sylvia,  as  her  broth 
er  laid  himself  down  after  an  approving  glance  at  the  group 
opposite. 

"  I  met  him  in  Munich,  when  I  first  went  abroad,  and 
since  then  we  have  often  come  upon  each  other  in  our  wan 
derings.  He  never  writes,  but  goes  and  comes  intent  upon 
his  own  affairs ;  yet  one  never  can  forget  him,  and  is  always 


AFLOAT.  51 

glad  to  feel  the  grip  of  his  hand  again,  it  seems  to  put  such 
life  and  courage  into  one." 

"  Is  he  good?  asked  Sylvia,  womanlike,  beginning  with 
the  morals. 

"  Violently  virtuous.  He  is  a  masterful  soul,  bent  on 
living  out  his  beliefs  and  aspirations  at  any  cost.  Much 
given  to  denunciation  of  wrong-doing  everywhere,  and  eager 
to  execute  justice  upon  all  offenders  high  or  low.  Yet  he 
possesses  great  nobility  of  character,  great  audacity  of  mind, 
and  leads  a  life  of  the  sternest  integrity." 

"Is  he  rich?" 

"  In  his  own  eyes,  because  he  makes  his  wants  so  few." 

"  Is  he  married  ?  " 

"  No ;  he  has  no  family,  and  not  many  friends,  for  he 
says  what  he  means  in  the  bluntest  English,  and  few  stand 
the  test  his  sincerity  applies." 

"  What  does  he  do  in  the  world  ?" 

"  Studies  it,  as  we  do  books ;  dives  into  everything,  ana 
lyzes  character,  and  builds  up  his  own  with  materials  which 
will  last.  If  tha't  's  not  genius  it 's  something  better." 

"  Then  he  will  do  much  good  and  be  famous,  wont  he  ?  " 

"  Great  good  to  many,  but  never  will  be  famous,  I  fear. 
He  is  too  fierce  an  iconoclast  to  suit  the  old  party,  too  indi 
vidual  a  reformer  to  join  the  new,  and  being  born  a  century 
too  soon  must  bide  his  time,  or  play  out  his  part  before  stage 
and  audience  are  ready  for  him." 

"Is  he  learned?" 

"  Very,  in  uncommon  sorts  of  wisdom ;  left  college  after 
a  year  of  it,  because  it  could  not  give  him  what  he  wanted, 
and  taking  the  world  for  his  university,  life  for  his  tutor, 
says  he  shall  not  graduate  till  his  term  ends  with  days." 

"  I  know  I  shall  like  him  very  much." 


52  MOODS. 

"  I  hope  so,  for  my  sake.  He  is  a  grand  man  in  the  rough, 
and  an  excellent  tonic  for  those  who  have  courage  to  try 
him." 

Sylvia  was  silent,  thinking  over  all  she  had  just  heard 
and  finding  much  to  interest  her  in  it,  because,  to  her  imag 
inative  and  enthusiastic  nature,  there  was  something 
irresistibly  attractive  in  the  strong,  solitary,  self-reliant 
man.  Mark  watched  her  for  a  moment,  then  asked  with 
lazy  curiosity  — 

"  How  do  you  like  this  other  friend  of  mine  ?" 

"  He  went  away  when  I  was  such  a  child  that  since  he 
came  back  I've  had  to  begin  again ;  but  if  I  like  him  at  the 
end  of  another  month  as  much  as  I  do  now,  I  shall  try  to 
make  your  friend  my  friend,  because  I  need  such  an  one 
very  much." 

Mark  laughed  at  the  innocent  frankness  of  his  sister's 
speech  but  took  it  as  she  meant  it,  and  answered  soberly  — 

"  Better  leave  Platonics  till  you  're  forty.  Though  Moor 
is  twelve  years  older  than  yourself  he  is  a  young  man  still, 
and  you  are  grown  a  very  captivating  little  woman." 

Sylvia  looked  both  scornful  and  indignant. 

"You  need  have  no  fears.  There  is  such  a  thing  a$ 
true  and  simple  friendship  between  men  and  women,  and 
if  1  can  find  no  one  of  my  own  sex  who  can  give  me  the  help 
and  happiness  I  want,  why  may  I  not  look  for  it  anywhere 
and  accept  it  in  whatever  shape  it  comes  ?  " 

'*  You  may,  my  dear,  and  I'll  lend  a  hand  with  all  my 
heart,  but  you  must  be  willing  to  take  the  consequences  in 
whatever  shape  they  come,"  said  Mark,  not  ill  pleased  with 
the  prospect  his  fancy  conjured  up. 

"  I  will,"  replied  Sylvia  loftily,  and  fate  took  her  at  her 
word. 


AFLOAT.  53 

Presently  some  one  suggested  bed,  and  &*  proposition 
was  unanimously  accepted. 

"  Where  are  you  going  to  hang  me  ?  "  asked  Sylvia,  as 
she  laid  hold  of  her  hammock  and  looked  about  her  with 
nearly  as  much  interest  as  if  her  suspension  was  to  be  of 
the  perpendicular  order. 

"  You  are  not  to  be  swung  up  in  a  tree  te-mgnt  but  la:d 
like  a  ghost,  and  requested  not  to  walk  till  moaning.  Th-TO 
is  an  unused  barn  close  by,  so  we  shall  have  a  roof  tve."  ua 
for  one  night  longer,"  answered  Mark,  plying  chambe/laic 
while  the  others  remained  to  quench  the  fire  and  secure  thf 
larder. 

An  early  moon  lighted  Sylvia  to  bed,  and  when  shown 
her  half  the  barn,  which,  as  she  was  a  Marine,  was  verj 
properly  the  bay,  Mark  explained,  she  scouted  the  idea  o}* 
being  nervous  or  timid  in  such  rude  quarters,  raade  herselt 
a  cosy  nest  and  bade  her  brother  a  merry  good  night. 

More  weary  than  she  would  confess,  Sylvia  fell  asleep  at- 
once,  despite  the  novelty  of  her  situation  and  the  noise? 
that  fill  a  summer  night  with  fitful  rustlings  and  tones. 
How  long  she  slept  she  did  not  know,  but  woke  suddenk 
and  sat  erect  with  that  curious  thrill  which  sometime& 
startles  one  out  of  deepest  slumber,  and  is  often  the  fore 
runner  of  some  dread  or  danger.  She  felt  this  hot  tingle 
through  blood  and  nerves,  and  stared  about  her  thinking  of 
fire.  But  everything  was  dark  and  still,  and  after  waiting 
a  few  moments  she  decided  that  her  nest  had  been  too  warm, 
for  her  temples  throbbed  and  her  cheeks  were  feverish  with 
the  close  air  of  the  barn  half  filled  with  new-made  hay. 

Creeping  up  a  fragrant  slope  she  spread  her  plaid  again 
and  lay  down  where  a  cool  breath  flowed  through  widd 
chinks  in  the  wall.  Sleep  was  slowly  returning  when  the 


54  MOODS. 

rustle  of  footsteps  scared  it  quite  away  and  set  her  heart 
beating  fast,  for  they  came  toward  the  new  coucji  she  had 
chosen.  Holding  her  breath  she  listened.  The  quiet  tread 
drew  nearer  and  nearer  -till  it  paused  within  a  yard  of  her, 
then  some  one  seemed  to  throw  themselves  down,  sigh  heav 
ily  a  few  times  and  grow  still  as  if  falling  asleep. 

"  It  is  Mark,"  thought  Sylvia,  and  whispered  his  name,  but 
no  one  answered,  and  from  the  other  corner  of  the  barn  she 
heard  her  brother  muttering  in  his  sleep.  Who  was  it, 
.then  ?  Mark  had  said  there  were  no  cattle  near,  she  was 
sure  neither  of  her  comrades  had  left  their  bivouac,  for 
there  was  her  brother  talking  as  usual  in  his  dreams  ;  some 
one  seemed  restless  and  turned  often  with  decided  motion, 
that  was  -Warwick,  she  thought,  while  the  quietest  sleeper 
of  the  three  betrayed  his  presence  by  laughing  once  with 
the  low-toned  merriment  she  recognized  as  Moor's.  These 
discoveries  left  her  a  prey  to  visions  of  grimy  strollers, 
maudlin  farm- servants %  and  infectious  emigrants  in  dismal 
array.  A  strong  desire  to  cry  out  possessed  her  for  a  mo 
ment,  but  was  checked ;  for  with  all  her  sensitiveness  Sylvia 
had  much  common  sense,  and  that  spirit  which  hates  to  be 
conquered  even  by  a  natural  fear.  She  remembered  her 
scornful  repudiation  of  the  charge  of  timidity,  and  the 
endless  jokes  she  would  have  to  undergo  if  her  mysterious 
neighbor  should  prove  some  harmless  wanderer  or  an  imag 
inary  terror  of  her  own,  so  she  held  her  peace,  thinking 
valiantly  as  the  drops  gathered  on  her  forehead,  and  every 
sense  grew  painfully  alert  — 

"  I'll  not  call  if  my  hair  turns  gray  with  fright,  and  I 
find  myself  an  idiot  to-morrow.  I  told  them  to  try  me,  and 
I  wont  be  found  wanting  at  the  first  alarm.  I'll  be  still, 
if  the  thing  does  not  touch  me  till  dawn,  when  I  shall 


AFLOAT.  55 

know  how  to  act  at  once,  and  so  save  myself  from  ridicule 
at  the  cost  of  a  wakeful  night." 

Holding  fast  to  this  resolve  Sylvia  lay  motionless;  listen 
ing  to  the  cricket's  chirp  without,  and  taking  uncomfortable 
notes  of  the  state  of  things  within,  for  the  new  comer  stirred 
heavily,  sighed  long  and  deeply,  and  seemed  to  wake  often, 
like  one  too  sad  or  weary  to  rest.  She  would  have  been  wise 
to  have  screamed  her  scream  and  had  the  rout  over,  for  she 
tormented  herself  with  the  ingenuity  of  a  lively  fancy,  and 
suffered  more  from  her  own  terrors  than  at  the  discovery  of 
a  dozen  vampires.  Every  tale  of  diablerie  she  had  ever 
heard  came  most  inopportunely  to  haunt  her  now,  and 
though  she  felt  their  folly  she  could  not  free  herself  from 
their  dominion.  She  wondered  till  she  could  wonder  no 
longer  what  the  morning  would  show  her.  She  tried  to 
calculate  in  how  many  springs  she  could  reach  and  fly  over 
the'  low  partition  which  separated  her  from  her  sleeping 
body-guard.  She  wished  with  all  her  heart  that  she  had 
stayed  in  her  nest  which  was  nearer  the  door,  and  watched 
for  dawn  with  eyes  that  ached  to  see  the  light. 

In  the  midst  of  these  distressful  sensations  the  far-off  crow 
of  some  vigilant  chanticleer  assured  her  that  the  short  sum 
mer  night  was  wearing  away  and  relief  was  at  hand.  This 
comfortable  conviction  had  so  good  an  effect  that  she  lapsed 
into  what  seemed  a  moment's  oblivion,  but  was  in  fact  an 
hour's  restless  sleep,  for  when  her  eyes  unclosed  again  the 
first  red  streaks  were  visible  in  the  east,  and  a  dim  light 
found  its  way  into  the  barn  through  the  great  door  which 
had  been  left  ajar  for  air.  An  instant  Sylvia  lay  collecting 
herself,  then  rose  on  her  arm,  looked  resolutely  behind  her, 
stared  with  round  eyes  a  moment,  and  dropped  down  again, 
laughing  with  a  merriment,  which  coming  on  the  heels  of 


5(3  MOODS. 

her  long  alarm  was  rather  hysterical.  All  she  saw  was  a 
little  soft-eyed  Alderney,  which  lifted  its  stag-like  head,  and 
regarded  her  with  a  confiding  aspect  that  won  her  pardon 
for  its  innocent  offence. 

Through  the  relief  of  both  mind  and  body  which  she 
experienced  in  no  small  degree,  the  first  thought  that  came 
was  a  thankful  "  what  a  mercy  I  did  n't  call  Mark,  for  I 
•should  never  have  heard  the  last  of  this ;  "  and  having 
fought  her  fears  alone  she  enjoyed  her  success  alone,  and 
girl-like  resolved  to  say  nothing  of  her  first  night's  adven 
tures.  Gathering  herself  up  she  crept  nearer  and  caressed 
her  late  terror,  which  stretched  its  neck  toward  her  with  a 
comfortable  sound,  and  munched  her  shawl  like  a  cosset 
lamb.  But  before  this  new  friendship  was  many  minutes 
old,  Sylvia's  heavy  lids  fell  together,  her  head  dropped 
lower  and  lower,  her  hand  lay  still  on  the  dappled  neck, 
and  with  a  long  sigh  of  weariness  she  dropped  back  up'on 
the  hay,  leaving  little  Alderney  to  watch  over  her  much 
more  tranquilly  than  she  had  watched  over  it. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THKOUGH   FLOOD   AND   FIELD   AND   FIRE. 

VERY  early  were  they  afloat  again,  and  as  they  glided 
up  the  stream  Sylvia  watched  the  earth's  awakening,  seeing 
in  it  what  her  own  should  be.  The  sun  was  not  yet  visible 
above  the  hills,  but  the  sky  was  ready  for  his  coining,  with 
the  soft  flush  of  color  dawn  gives  only  to  her  royal  lover. 
Birds  were  chanting  matins  as  if  all  the  jubilance  of  their 
short  lives  must  be  poured  out  at  once.  Flowers  stirred 
and  brightened  like  children  after  sleep.  A  balmy  wind 
came  whispering  from  the  wood,  bringing  the  aroma  of 
pines,  the  cool  breath  of  damp  nooks,  the  healthful  kiss 
that  leaves  a  glow  behind.  Light  mists  floated  down  the 
river  like  departing  visions  that  had  haunted  it  by  night, 
and  every  ripple  breaking  on  the  shore  seemed  to  sing  a 
muyical  good  morrow. 

Sylvia  could  not  conceal  the  weariness  her  long  vigil  left 
behind ;  and  after  betraying  herself  by  a  drowsy  lurch  that 
nearly  took  her  overboard,  she  made  herself  comfortable, 
and  slept  till  the  grating  of  the  keel  on  a  pebbly  shore  woke 
her  to  find  a  new  harbor  reached  under  the  lee  of  a  cliff, 
whose  deep  shadow  was  very  grateful  after  the  glare  of 
noon  upon  the  water. 

11  How  do  you  intend  to  dispose  of  yourself  this  after- 


58  MOODS. 

noon,  Adam  ?  "  asked  Mark,  when  dinner  was  over  and  his 
sister  busy  feeding  the  birds. 

"  In  this  way,"  answered  Warwick,  producing  a  book 
and  settling  himself  in  a  commodious  cranny  of  the  rock. 

"  Moor  and  I  want  to  climb  the  cliff  and  sketch  the 
view  ;  but  it  is  too  rough  a  road  for  Sylvia.  Would  you 
mind  mounting  guard  for  an  hour  or  two  ?  Bead  away,  and 
leave  her  to  amuse  herself;  only  pray  don't  let  her  get  into 
any  mischief  by  way  of  enjoying  her  liberty,  for  she  fears 
nothing  and  is  fond  of  experiments." 

"  I'll  do  my  best,"  replied  Warwick,  with  an  air  of  resig 
nation. 

Having  slung  the  hammock  and  seen  Sylvia  safely  into 
it,  the  climbers  departed,  leaving  her  to  enjoy  the  luxury 
of  motion.  For  half  an  hour  she  swung  idly,  looking  up 
into  the  green  pavilion  overhead,  where  many  insect  fami 
lies  were  busy  with  their  small  joys  and  cares,  or  out  over 
the  still  landscape  basking  in  the  warmth  tf  a  cloudless 
afternoon.  Then  she  opened  a  book  Mark  had  brought  for 
his  own  amusement,  and  began  to  read  as  intently  as  her 
companion,  who  leaned  against  the  boulder  slowly  turning 
his  pages,  with  leafy  shadows  flickering  over  his  uncovered 
head  and  touching  it  with  alternate  sun  and  shade.  The 
book  proved  interesting,  and  Sylvia  was  rapidly  skimming 
into  the  heart  of  the  story,  when  an  unguarded  motion 
caused  her  swing  to  slope  perilously  to  one  side,  and  in 
saving  herself  she  lost  her  book.  This  produced  a  predi 
cament,  for  being  helped  into  a  hammock  and  getting  out 
alone  are  two  very  different  things.  She  eyed  the  distance 
from  her  nest  to  the  ground,  and  fancied  it  had  been  made 
unusually  great  to  keep  her  stationary.  She  held  fast  with 
one  hand  and  stretched"  downward  with  the  other  ,  but  the 


THROUGH   FLOOD   AND   FIELD   AND   FIRE.        59 

book  insolently  flirted  its  leaves  just  out  of  reach.  She 
took  a  survey  of  Warwick ;  he  had  not  perceived  her  plight, 
and  she  felt  an  unwonted  reluctance  to  call  for  help,  be 
cause  he  did  not  look  like  one  used  to  come  and  go  at  a 
woman's  bidding.  After  several  fruitless  essays  she  decided 
to  hazard  an  ungraceful  descent ;  and,  gathering  herself  up, 
was  about  to  launch  boldly  out,  when  Warwick  cried, 
"  Stop!"  in  a  tone  that  nearly  produced  the  catastrophe 
he  wished  to  avert.  Sylvia  subsided,  and  coming  up  he 
lifted  the  book,  glanced  at  the  title,  then  keenly  at  the 
reader. 

"  Do  you  like  this  ?  " 

"  So  far  very  much." 

"  Are  you  allowed  to  read  what  you  choose  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  That  is  Mark's  choice,  however ;  I  brought 
no  book." 

" I  advise  you  to  skim  it  into  the  river;  it  is  not  a  book 
for  you." 

Sylvia  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  one  he  had  been  reading 
himself,  and  impelled  by  a  sudden  impulse  to  see  what 
would  come  of  it,  she  answered  with  a  look  as  keen  as  his 
own  — 

"  You  disapprove  of  my  book ;  would  you  recommend 
yours  ?  " 

"  Ic  this  case,  yes  ;  for  in  one  you  will  find  much  false 
hood  in  purple  and  fine  linen,  in  the  other  some  truth  in  fig- 
leaves.  Take  your  choice." 

He  offered  both  ;  but  Sylvia  took  refuge  in  civility. 

"I  thank  you,  I'll  have  neither  ;  but  if  you  will  please 
steady  the  hammock,  I  will  try  to  find  some  more  harmless 
amusement  for  mynelf." 

He  obeyed  with  one  of  the  humorous  expressions  which 


60  MOODS. 

often  passed  over  his  face.  Sylvia  descended  as  gracefully 
as  circumstances  permitted,  and  went  roving  up  and  down 
the  cliffs.  Warwick  resumed  his  seat  and  the  "  barbaric 
yawp,"  but  seemed  to  find  Truth  in  demi- toilet  less  inter 
esting  than  Youth  in  a  gray  gown  and  round  hat,  for  which 
his  taste  is  to  be  commended.  The  girl  had  small  scope 
for  amusement,  and  when  she  had  gathered  moss  for  pil 
lows,  laid  out  a  white  fungus  to  dry  for  a  future  pin 
cushion,  harvested  penny-royal  in  little  sheaves  tied  with 
grass-blades,  watched  a  battle  between  black  ants  and  red, 
and  learned  the  landscape  by  heart ;  she  was  at  the  end  of 
her  resources,  and  leaning  on  a  stone  surveyed  earth  and 
sky  with  a  somewhat  despondent  air. 

"  You  would  like  something  to  do,  I  think." 

"  Yes,  sir;  for  being  rather  new  to  this  sort  of  life,  I 
have  not  yet  learned  how  to  dispose  of  my  time." 

"I  see  that,  and  having  deprived  yiou  of  one  employment 
will  try  to  replace  it  by  another." 

Warwick  rose,  and  going  to  the  single  birch  that  glim 
mered  among  the  pines  like  a  delicate  spirit  of  the  wood, 
he  presently  returned  with  strips  of  silvery  bark. 

"  You  were  wishing  for  baskets  to  hold  your  spoils,  yes 
terday  ;  shall  we  make  some  now  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  How  stupid  in  me  not  to  think  of  that !  Yes,  thank 
you,  I  should  like  it  very  much  ;  "  and  producing  her  house 
wife,  Sylvia  fell  to  work  with  a  brightening  face. 

Warwick  sat  a  little  below  her  on  the  rock,  shaping  his 
basket  in  perfect  silence.  This  did  not  suit  Sylvia,  for  feeling 
lively  and  loquacious  she  wanted  conversation  to  occupy 
her  thoughts  as  pleasantly  as  the  birch  rolls  were  occupying 
her  hands,  and  there  sat  a  person  who,  she  was  sure,  could 
do  it  perfectly  if  he  chose.  She  reconnoitcred  with  covert 


THROUGH    FLOOD   AND   FIELD   AND   FIRE.        61 

glances,  made  sundry  overtures,  and  sent  out  envoys  in  the 
shape  of  scissors,  needles,  and  thread.  But  no  answering 
glance  met  hers  ;  her  remarks  received  the  briefest  replies, 
and  her  offers  of  assistance  were  declined  with  an  absent 
"  No,  thank  you."  Then  she  grew  indignant  at  this  seem 
ing  neglect,  and  thought,  as  she  sat  frowning  over  her  work, 
behind  his  back  — 

"  He  treats  me  like  a  child,  —  very  well,  then,  I'll 
behave  like  one,  and  beset  him  with  questions  till  he  is 
driven  to  speak ;  for  he  can  talk,  he  ought  to  talk,  he  shall 
talk." 

"  Mr.  Warwick,  do  you  like  children  ?  "  she  began,  with 
a  determined  aspect. 

"  Better  than  men  or  women." 

"  Do  you  enjoy  amusing  them  ?  " 

"  Exceedingly,  when  in  the  humor." 

"  Are  you  in  the  humor  now?  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  so." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  amuse  me  ?  " 

"  Because  you  are  not  a  child." 

"  I  fancied  you  thought  me  one." 

"  If  I  had,  I  probably  should  have  put  you  on  my  knee, 
and  told  you  fairy  tales,  or  cut  dolls  for  you  out  of  this 
bark,  instead  of  sitting  respectfully  silent  and  making  a 
basket  for  your  stores." 

There  was  a  curious  smile  about  Warwick's  mouth  as  he 
spoke,  and  Sylvia  was  rather  abashed  by  her  first  exploit. 
But  there  was  a  pleasure  in  the  daring,  and  choosing  another 
topic  she  tried  again. 

"  Mark  was  telling  me  last  night  about  the  great  college 
you  had  chosen ;  I  thought  it  must  be  a  very  original  and 
interesting  way  to  educate  one's  self,  and  wanted  very  much 
0 


62  MOODS. 

to  know  what  you  had  been  studying  lately.  May  I  ask 
you  now  ?  " 

"  Men  and  women,"  was  the  brief  answer. 

"  Have  you  got  your  lesson,  sir  ?  " 

"  A  part  of  it  very  thoroughly,  I  believe." 

"  Would  you  think  me  rude  if  I  asked  which  part  ?  " 

"  The  latter." 

"  And  what  conclusions  do  you  arrive  at  concerning  this 
branch  of  the  subject?"  asked  Sylvia,  smiling  and  inter 
ested. 

"  That  it  is  both  dangerous  and  unsatisfactory." 

He  spoke  so  gravely,  looked  so  stern,  that  Sylvia  obeyed 
a  warning  instinct  and  sat  silent  till  she  had  completed  a 
canoe-shaped  basket,  the  useful  size  of  which  produced 
a  sudden  longing  to  fill  it.  Her  eye  had  already  spied  a 
knoll  across  the  river  covered  with  vines,  and  so  suggestive 
of  berries  that  she  now  found  it  impossible  to  resist  the  de 
sire  for  an  exploring  trip  in  that  direction.  The  boat  was 
too  large  for  her  to  manage  alone,  but  an  enterprising  spirit 
had  taken  possession  of  her,  and  having  made  one  voyage 
of  discovery  with  small  success  she  resolved  to  try  again, 
hoping  a  second  in  another  direction  might  prove  more 
fruitful. 

"  Is  your  basket  done,  sir?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes  ;  will  you  have  it?  " 

"Why,  you  have  made  it  as  an  Indian  would,  using 
grass  instead  of  thread.  It  is  much  more  complete  than 
mine,  for  the  green  stitches  ornament  the  white  bark,  but 
the  black  ones  disfigure  it.  I  should  know  a  man  made 
your  basket  and  a  woman  mine." 

"  Because  one  is  ugly  and  strong,  the  other  graceful  but 
unable  to  stand  alone  ? "  asked  Warwick,  rising,  with  a 


THROUGH   FLOOD   AND   FIELD   AND   FIRE.        63 

gesture  that  sent  the  silvery  shreds  flying  away  on  the 
wind. 

"One  holds  as  much  as  the  other,  however ;  and  I  fancy 
the  woman  would  fill  hers  soonest  if  she  had  the  where 
withal  to  do  it.  Do  you  know  there  are  berries  on  that 
hillside  opposite  ?  " 

"I  see  vines,  but  consider  fruit  doubtful,  for  boys  and 
birds  are  thicker  than  blackberries." 

"  I've  a  firm  conviction  that  they  have  left  some  for  us ; 
and  as  Mark  says  you  like  frankness,  I  think  I  shall  venture 
to  ask  you  to  row  me  over  and  help  me  fill  the  baskets  on 
the  other  side." 

Sylvia  looked  up  at  him  with  a  merry  mixture  of  doubt 
and  daring  in  her  face,  and  offered  him  his  hat. 

"  Very  good,  I  will,"  said  Warwick,  leading  the  way  to 
the  boat  with  an  alacrity  which  proved  how  much  pleasanter 
to  him  was  action  than  repose. 

There  was  no  dry  landing-place  just  opposite,  and  as  he 
rowed  higher,  Adam  fixed  his  eyes  on  Sylvia  with  a  look 
peculiar  to  himself,  a  gaze  more  keen  than  soft,  which 
seemed  to  search  one  through  and  through  with  its  rapid 
discernment.  He  saw  a  face  full  of  contradictions,  —  youth 
ful,  maidenly,  and  intelligent,  yet  touched  with  the  uncon 
scious  melancholy  which  is  born  of  disappointment  and 
desire.  The  mouth  was  sweet  and  tender  as  a  woman's 
should  be,  the  brow  spirited  and  thoughtful ;  but  the  eyes 
were  by  turns  eager,  absent,  or  sad,  and  there  was  much 
pride  in  the  carriage  of  the  small  head  with  its  hair  of  wavy 
gold  gathered  into  a  green  snood,  whence  little  tendrils  kept 
breaking  loose  to  dance  upon  her  forehead,  or  hang  about 
her  neck.  A  most  significant  but  not  a  beautiful  face,  be 
cause  of  its  want  of  harmony.  The  dark  eyes,  among  their 


64  MOODS. 

fair  surroundings,  disturbed  the  sight  as  a  discord  in  music 
jars  upon  the  ear ;  even  when  the  lips  smiled  the  sombre 
shadow  of  black  lashes  seemed  to  fill  them  with  a  gloom 
that  was  never  wholly  lost.  The  voice,  too,  which  should 
have  been  a  girlish  treble,  was  full  and  low  as  a  matured 
woman's,  with  now  and  then  a  silvery  ring  to  it,  as  if  an 
other  and  a  blither  creature  spoke. 

Sylvia  could  not  be  offended  by  the  grave  penetration  of 
this  glance,  though  an  uncomfortable  consciousness  that 
she  was  being  analyzed  and  tested  made  her  meet  it  with 
a  look  intended  to  be  dignified,  but  which  was  also  some 
what  defiant,  and  more  than  one  smile  passed  over  War 
wick's  countenance  as  he  watched  her.  The  moment  the 
boat  glided  with  a  soft  swish  among  the  rushes  that 
fringed  the  shore,  she  sprang  up  the  bank,  and  leaving  a 
basket  behind  her  by  way  of  hint,  hurried  to  the  sandy 
knoll,  where,  to  her  great  satisfaction,  she  found  the  vines 
heavy  with  berries.  As  Warwick  joined  her  she  held  up 
a  shining  cluster,  saying  with  a  touch  of  exultation  in  her 
voice  — 

"  My  faith  is  rewarded;  taste  and  believe." 
He  accepted  them  with  a  nod,  and  said  pleasantly  — 
"  As  my  prophecy  has  failed,  let  us  see  if  yours  will  be 
fulfilled." 

"  I  accept  the  challenge."  And  down  upon  her  knees 
went  Sylvia  among  the  vines,  regardless  of  stains,  rents,  or 
wounded  hands. 

Warwick  strolled  away  to  leave  her  "claim"  free,  and 
silence  fell  between  them  ;  for  one  was  too  busy  with 
thorns,  the  other  with  thoughts,  to  break  the  summer  still 
ness.  Sylvia  worked  with  as  much  energy  as  if  a  silver 
cup  was  to  be  the  reward  of  success.  The  sun  shone  fer 


THROUGH  FLOOD  AND  FIELD  AND  FIRE.    65 

vently  and  the  wind  was  cut  off  by  the  hill,  drops  gathered 
on  her  forehead  and  her  cheeks  glowed ;  but  she  only 
pushed  off  her  hat,  thrust  back  her  hair,  and  moved  on  to  a 
richer  spot.  Vines  caught  at  her  by  sleeve  and  skirt  as  if 
to  dishearten  the  determined  plunderer,  but  on  she  went 
with  a  wrench  and  a  rip,  an  impatient  "  Ah  !  "  and  a  hasty 
glance  at  damaged  fabrics  and  fingers.  Lively  crickets 
flew  up  in  swarms  about  her,  surly  wasps  disputed  her 
right  to  the  fruit,  and  drunken  bees  blundered  against 
her  as  they  met  zigzagging  homeward  much  the  worse  for 
blackberry  wine.  She  never  heeded  any  of  them,  though 
at  another  time  she  would  gladly  have  made  friends  with 
all,  but  found  compensation  for  her  discomforts  in  the  busy 
twitter  of  sand  swallows  perched  on  the  mullein-tops,  the 
soft  flight  of  yellow  butterflies,  and  the  rapidity  with  which 
the  little  canoe  received  its  freight  of  "  Ethiop  sweets."  As 
the  last  handful  went  in  she  sprung  up  crying  "Done!" 
with  a  suddenness  that  broke  up  the  Long  Parliament  and 
sent  its  members  skimming  away  as  if  a  second  "Noll" 
had  appeared  among  them.  "  Done ! "  came  back  War 
wick's  answer  like  a  deep  echo  from  below,  and  hurrying 
down  to  meet  him  she  displayed  her  success,  saying 
archly  — 

"  I  am  glad  we  both  won,  though  to  be  perfectly  candid 
I  think  mine  is  decidedly  the  fullest."  But  as  she  swung  up 
her  birch  pannier  the  handle  broke,  and  down  went  basket, 
berries  and  all,  into  the  long  grass  rustling  at  her  feet. 

Warwick  could  not  restrain  a  laugh  at  the  blank  dismay 
that  fell  upon  the  exultation  of  Sylvia's  face,  and  for  a 
moment  she  was  both  piqued  and  petulant.  Hot,  tired, 
disappointed,  and,  hardest  of  all,  laughed  at,  it  was  one  of 
those  times  that  try  girls'  souls.  But  she  was  too  old  to 
so 


66  MOODS. 

cry,  too  proud  to  complain,  too  well-bred  to  resent,  so  the 
little  gust  passed  over  unseen,  she  thought,  and  joining  in 
the  merriment  she  said,  as  she  knelt  down  beside  the 
wreck  — 

"  This  is  a  practical  illustration  of  the  old  proverb,  and 
I  deserve  it  for  my  boasting.  Next  time  I'll  try  to  com 
bine  strength  and  beauty  in  my  work." 

To  wise  people  character  is  betrayed  by  trifles.  War 
wick  stopped  laughing,  and  something  about  the  girlish 
figure  in  the  grass,  regathering  with  wounded  hands  the 
little  ^harvest  lately  lost,  seemed  to  touch  him.  His  face 
softened  suddenly  as  he  collected  several  broad  leaves, 
spread  them  on  the  grass,  .and  sitting  down  by  Sylvia, 
looked  under  her  hat-brim  with  a  glance  of  mingled  peni 
tence  and  friendliness. 

"  Now,  young  philosopher,  pile  up  your  berries  in  that 
green  platter  while  I  repair  the  basket.  Bear  this  in  mind 
when  you  work  in  bark :  make  your  handle  the  way  of  the 
grain,  and  choose  a  strip  both  smooth  and  broad." 

Then  drawing  out  his  knife  he  fell  to  work,  and  while 
he  tied  greeji  withes,  as  if  the  task  were  father  to  the 
thought,  he  told  her  something  of  a  sojourn  among  the 
Indians,  of  whom  he  had  learned  much  concerning  tteir 
woodcraft,  arts,  and  superstitions ;  lengthening  the  legend 
till  the  little  canoe  was  ready  for  another  launch.  W^ith 
her  fancy  full  of  war-trails  and  wampum,  Sylvia  followed 
to  the  river-side,  and  as  they  floated  back  dabbled  her 
stained  fingers  in  the  water,  comforting  their  smart  with 
its  cool  flow  till  they  swept  by  the  landing-place,  when  she 
asked,  wonderingly  — 

"Where  are  we  going  now?  Have  I  been  so  trouble 
some  that  I  must  be  taken  home  ?  " 


THROUGH   FLOOD   AND   FIELD   AND   FIRE.        67 

"  We  are  going  to  get  a  third  course  to  follow  the  ber 
ries,  unless  you  are  afraid  to  trust  yourself  to  me." 

"Indeed,  I'm  not ;  take  me  where  you  like,  sir." 

Something  in  her  frank  tone,  her  confiding  look,  seemed 
to  please  Warwick ;  he  sat  a  moment  looking  into  the 
brown  depths  of  the  water,  and  let  the  boat  drift,  with  no 
sound  but  the  musical  drip  of  drops  from  the  oars. 

"  You  are  going  upon  a  rock,  sir." 

"  I  did  that  three  months  ago." 

He  spoke  as  if  to  himself,  his  face  darkened,  and  he 
shook  the  hair  off  his  forehead  with  an  impatient  gesture. 
A  swift  stroke  averted  the  shock,  and  the  boat  shot  down 
the  stream,  leaving  a  track  of  foam  behind  it  as  Warwick 
rowed  with  the  energy  of  one  bent  on  outstripping  some 
importunate  remembrance  or  dogging  care.  Sylvia  mar 
velled  greatly  at  the  change  which  came  upon  him,  but 
held  fast  with  flying  hair  and  lips  apart  to  catch  the 
spray,  enjoying  the  breezy  flight  along  a  path  tessellated 
with  broad  bars  of  blue  and  gold.  The  race  ended  as 
abruptly  as  it  began,  and  Warwick  seemed  the  winner, 
for  when  they  touched  the  coast  of  a  floating  lily-island, 
the  cloud  was  gone.  As  he  shipped  his  oars  he  turned, 
saying,  with  very  much  the  look  and  manner  of  a  pleasant 
boy  — 

"  You  were  asleep  when  we  passed  this  morning  ;  but  I 
know  you  like  lilies,  so  let  us  go  a  fishing." 

"  That  I  do ! "  cried  Sylvia,  capturing  a  great  white 
flower  with  a  clutch  that  nearly  took  her  overboard.  War 
wick  drew  her  back  and  did  the  gathering  himself. 

"  Enough,  sir,  quite  enough.  Here  are  plenty  to  trim 
our  table  and  ourselves  with  ;  leave  the  rest  for  other  voy 
agers  who  may  come  this  way  " 


68  MOODS. 

As  Warwick  offered  her  the  dripping  Ljteegay  he  looked 
at  the  white  hand  scored  with  scarlet  lines. 

"  Poor  hand  !  let  the  lilies  comfort  it.  You  are  a  true 
woman,  Miss  Sylvia,  for  though  your  palm  is  purple  there  's 
not  a  stain  upon  your  lips,  and  you  have  neither  worked 
nor  suffered  for  yourself  it  seems." 

"  I  don't  deserve  that  compliment,  because  I  was  only 
intent  on  outdoing  you  if  possible ;  so  you  are  mistaken 
again  you  see." 

"  Not  entirely,  I  think.  Some  faces  are  so  true  an  index 
of  character  that  one  cannot  be  mistaken.  If  you  doubt 
this  look  down  into  the  river,  and  such  an  one  will  inevit 
ably  smile  back  at  you." 

Pleased,  yet  somewhat  abashed,  Sylvia  busied  herself  in 
knotting  up  the  long  brown  stems  and  tinging  her  nose 
with  yellow  pollen  as  she  inhaled  the  bitter-sweet  breath  of 
the  lilies.  But  when  Warwick  turned  to  resume  the  oars, 
she  said  — 

"  Let  us  float  out  as  we  floated  in.  It  is  so  still  and 
lovely  here  I  like  to  stay  and  enjoy  it,  for  we  may  never 
see  just  such  a  scene  again." 

He  obeyed,  and  both  sat  silent,  watching  the  meadows 
that  lay  green  and  low  along  the  shore,  feeding  their  eyes 
with  the  beauty  of  the  landscape,  till  its  peaceful  spirit 
seemed  to  pass  into  their  own,  and  lend  a  subtle  charm  to 
that  hour,  which  henceforth  was  to  stand  apart,  serene  and 
happy,  in  their  memories  forever.  A  still  August  day,  with 
a  shimmer  in  the  air  that  veiled  the  distant  hills  with  the 
mellow  haze,  no  artist  ever  truly  caught.  Midsummer 
warmth  and  ripeness  brooded  in  the  verdure  of  field  and 
forest.  Wafts  of  fragrance  went  wandering  by  from  new- 
mown  meadows  and  gardens  full  of  bloom.  All  the  sky 


THROUGH   FLOOD    AND    FIELD    AND    FIRE.        69 

wore  its  serenest  blue,  and  up  the  river  came  frolic  winds, 
ruffling  the  lily  leaves  until  they  showed  their  purple  lin 
ings,  sweeping  shadowy  ripples  through  the  long  grass,  and 
lifting  the  locks  from  Sylvia's  forehead  with  a  grateful 
touch,  as  she  sat  softly  swaying  with  the  swaying  of  the 
boat.  Slowly  they  drifted  out  into  the  current,  slowly 
Warwick  cleft  the  water  with  reluctant  stroke,  and  slowly 
Sylvia's  mind  woke  from  its  trance  of  dreamy  delight,  as 
with  a  gesture  of  assent  she  said  — 

"  Yes,  I  am  ready  now.  That  was  a  happy  little  mo 
ment,  and  I  am  glad  to  have  lived  it,  for  such  times  return 
to  refresh  me  when  many  a  more  stirring  one  is  quite  for 
gotten."  A  moment  after  she  added,  eagerly,  as  a  new 
object  of  interest  appeared :  "  Mr.  Warwick,  I  see  smoke. 
I  know  there  is  a  wood  on  fire  ;  I  want  to  see  it ;  please 
land  again." 

He  glanced  over  his  shoulder  at  the  black  cloud  trailing 
away  before  the  wind,  saw  Sylvia's  desire  in  her  face,  and 
silently  complied  ;  for  being  a  keen  student  of  characte., 
he  was  willing  to  prolong  an  interview  that  gave  him 
glimpses  of  a  nature  in  which  the  woman  and  the  child 
were  curiously  blended. 

"  I  love  fire,  and  that  must  be  a  grand  one,  if  we  could 
only  see  it  well.  This  bank  is  not  high  enough ;  let  us  go 
nearer  and  enjoy  it,"  said  Sylvia,  finding  that  an  orchard 
and  a  knoll  or  two  intercepted  the  view  of  the  burning 
wood. 

"  It  is  too  far." 

"  Not  at  all.  I  am  no  helpless,  fine  lady.  I  can  walk, 
run,  and  climb  like  any  boy  ;  so  you  need  have  no  fears  for 
me.  I  may  never  see  such  a  sight  again,  and  you  know 
you  'd  go  if  you  were  alone.  Please  come,  Mr.  Warwick." 


70  MOODS. 

"  I  promised  Mark  to  take  care  of  you,  and  for  the  very 
reason  that  you  love  fire,  I'd  rather  not  take  you  into  that 
furnace,  lest  you  never  come  out  again.  Let  us  go  back 
immediately." 

The  decision  of  his.  tone  ruffled  Sylvia,  and  she  turned 
wilful  at  once,  saying  in  a  tone  as  decided  as  his  own  — 

"  No  ;  I  wish  to  see  it.  I  am  always  allowed  to  do  what 
I  wish,  so  I  shall  go ; "  with  which  mutinous  remark  she 
walked  straight  away  towards  the  burning  wood.' 

Warwick  looked  after  her,  indulging  a  momentary  desire 
to  carry  her  back  to  the  boat,  like  a  naughty  child.  But 
the  resolute  aspect  of  the  figure  going  on  before  him,  con 
vinced  him  that  the  attempt  would  be  a  failure,  and  with 
an  amused  expression  he  leisurely  followed  her. 

Sylvia  had  not  walked  five  minutes  before  she  was  sat 
isfied  that  it  was  too  far ;  but  having  rebelled,  she  would 
not  own  herself  in  the  wrong,  and  being  perverse,  insisted 
apon  carrying  her  point,  though  she  walked  all  night.  On 
she  went  over  walls,  under  rails,  across  brooks,  along  the 
furrows  of  more  than  one  ploughed  field,  and  in  among  the 
rustling  corn,  that  turned  its  broad  leaves  to  the  sun, 
always  in  advance  of  her  companion,  who  followed  with 
exemplary  submission,  but  also  with  a  satirical  smile,  that 
spurred  her  on  as  no  other  demonstration  could  have  done. 
Six  o'clock  sounded  from  the  church  behind  the  hill ;  still 
the  wood  seemed  to  recede  as  she  pursued,  still  close  behind 
her  came  the  steady  footfalls,  with  no  sound  of  weariness 
in  them,  and  still  Sylvia  kept  on,  till,  breathless,  but  suc 
cessful,  she  reached  the  object  of  her  search. 

Keeping  to  the  windward  of  the  smoke,  she  gained  a 
rocky  spot  still  warm  and  blackened  by  the  late  passage  of 
the  flames,  and  pausing  there,  forgot  her  own  pranks  ID 


THROUGH  FLOOD    AND   FIELD   AND   FIRE.        71 

watching  those  which  the  fire  played  before  hjer  eyes, 
Many  acres  were  burning,  the  air  was  full  of  the  rush  and 
roar  of  the  victorious  element,  the  crash  of  trees  that  fell 
before  it,  and  the  shouts  of  men  who  fought  it  unavailingly. 

"Ah,  this  is  grand  !  I  wish  Mark  and  Mr.  Moor  were 
here.  Are  n't  you  glad  you  came,  sir  ?  " 

Sylvia  glanced  up  at  her  companion,  as  he  stood  regard 
ing  the  scene  with  the  intent,  alert  expression  one  often 
sees  in  a  fine  hound  when  he  scents  danger  in  the  air.  But 
Warwick  did  not  answer,  for  as  she  spoke  a  long,  sharp  cry 
of  human  suffering  rose  above  the  tumult,  terribly  distinct 
and  full  of  ominous  suggestion. 

"  Some  one  was  killed  .when  that  tree  fell !  Stay  here 
till  I  come  back ; "  and  Adam  strode  away  into  the  wood 
as  if  his  place  were  where  the  peril  lay. 

For  ten  minutes  Sylvia  waited,  pale  and'  anxious  ;  then 
her  patience  gave  out,  and  saying  to  herself,  "I  can  go 
where  he  does,  and  women  are  always  more  helpful  than 
men  at  such  times,"  she  followed  in  the  direction  whence 
came  the  fitful  sound  of  voices.  The  ground  was  hot  un 
derneath  her  feet,  red  eyes  winked  at  her  from  the  black 
ened  sod,  and  fiery  tongues  darted  up  here  and  there,  as  if 
the  flames  were  lurking  still,  ready  for  another  outbreak. 
Intent  upon  her  charitable  errand,  and  excited  by  the  novel 
scene,  she  pushed  recklessly  on,  leaping  charred  logs,  skirt 
ing  still  burning  stumps,  and  peering  eagerly  into  the  dun 
veil  that  wavered  to  and  fro.  The  appearance  of  an  im 
passable  ditch  obliged  her  to  halt,  and  pausing  to  take 
breath,  she  became  aware  that  she  had  lost  her  way.  The 
echo  of  voices  had  ceased,  a  red  glare  was  deepening  in 
front,  and  clouds  of  smoke  enveloped  her  in  a  stifling  at 
mosphere.  A  sense  of  bewilderment  crept  over  her ;  she 


72  MOODS. 

knew  not  where  she  was  ;  and  after  a  rapid  flight  in  what 
she  believed  a  safe  direction  had  been  cut  short  by  the  fall 
of  a  blazing  tree  before  her,  she  stood  still,  taking  counsel 
with  herself.  Darkness  and  danger  seemed  to  encompass 
her,  fire  flickered  on  every  side,  and  suffocating  vapors 
shrouded  earth  and  sky.  A  bare  rock  suggested  one  hope 
of  safety,  and  muffling  her  head  in  her  skirt,  she  lay  down 
faint  and  blind,  with  a  dull  pain  in  her  temples,  and  a  fear 
at  her  heart  fast  deepening  into  terror,  as  her  breath  grew 
painful  and  her  head  began  to  swim. 

"  This  is  the  last  of  the  pleasant  voyage  !  Oh,  why  does 
no  one  think  of  me  ?  " 

As  the  regret  rose,  a  cry  of  suffering  and  entreaty  broke 
from  her.  She  had  not  called  for  help  till  now,  thinking 
herself  too  remote,  her  voice  too  feeble  to  overpower  the 
din  about  her.  But  some  one  had  thought  of  her,  for  as 
the  cry  left  her  lips  steps  came  crashing  through  the  wood, 
a  pair  of  strong  arms  caught  her  up,  and  before  she  could 
collect  her  scattered  senses  she  was  set  "down  beyond  all 
danger  on  the  green  bank  of  a  little  pool. 

"  Well,  salamander,  have  you  had  fire  enough  ?  "  asked 
Warwick,  as  he  dashed  a  handful  of  water  in  her  face  with 
such  energetic  goodwill  that  it  took  her  breath  away. 

"  Yes,  oh  yes,  —  and  of  water,  too  !  Please  stop,  and  let 
me  get  my  breath  ! "  gasped  Sylvia,  warding  off  a  second 
baptism  and  staring  dizzily  about  her. 

"  Why  did  you  quit  the  place  where  I  left  you?"  was 
the  next  question,  somewhat  sternly  put 

"  I  wanted  to  know  what  had  happened." 

"'So  you  walked  into  a  bonfire  to  satisfy  your  curiosity, 
though  you  had  been  told  to  keep  out  of  it  ?  You  'd  never 
make  a  Casabianca." 


THROUGH  FLOOD  AND  FIELD  AND  FIRE.    73 

"  I  hope  not,  for  of  all  silly  children,  that  boy  was  the 
silliest,  and  he  deserved  to  be  blown  up  for  his  want  of 
common  sense,"  cried  the  girl,  petulantly. 

41  Obedience  is  an  old-fashioned  virtue,  which  you  would 
do  well  to  cultivate  along  with  your  common  sense,  young 
lady." 

Sylvia  changed  the  subject,  for  Warwick  stood  regarding 
her  with  an  irate  expression  that  was  somewhat  alarming. 
Fanning  herself  with  the  wet  hat,  she  asked  abruptly  — 

"  Was  the  man  hurt,  sir  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Very  much  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Can  I  not  do  something  for  him?  He  is  very  far  from 
any  house,  and  I  have  some  experience  in  wounds." 

"  He  is  past  all  help,  above  all  want  now." 

"Dead,  Mr.  Warwick?" 

"  Quite  dead." 

Sylvia  sat  down  as  suddenly  as  she  had  risen,  and  cover 
ed  her  face  with  a  shiver,  remembering  that  her  own  wil- 
fulness  had  tempted  a  like  fate,  and  she  too,  might  now 
have  been  '  past  help,  above  all  want.'  Warwick  went 
lown  to  the  pool  to  bathe  his  hot  face  and  blackened  hands ; 
as  he  returned  Sylvia  met  him  with  a  submissive  — 

"  I  will  go  back  now  if  you  are  ready,  sir." 

If  the  way  had  seemed  long  in  coming  it  was  doubly  so 
in  returning,  for  neither  pride  nor  perversity  sustained  her 
now,  and  every  step  cost  an  effort.  "I  can  rest  in  the  boat," 
was  her  sustaining  thought ;  great  therefore  was  her  dismay 
when  on  reaching  the  river  no  boat  was  to  be  seen, 

"  Why,  Mr.  Warwick,  where  is  it?  " 

"  A.  long   way  down   the  aver  by   this   time,  probably. 


74  MOODS. 

Believing  that  we  landed  only  for  a  moment,  I  did  not. fas 
ten  it,  and  the  tide  has  carried  it  away." 

"  But  what  shall  we  do?  " 

"  One  of  two  things,  —  spend  the  night  here,  or  go  round 
by  the  bridge." 

"Is  it  far?" 

"  Some  three  or  four  miles,  I  think." 

"Is  there  no  shorter  way?  no  boat  or  carriage  to  be 
had?" 

"  If  you  care  to  wait,  I  can  look  for  our  runaway,  or  get 
a  wagon  from  the  town." 

"  It  is  growing  late  and  you  would  be  gone  a  long  time,  I 
suppose?  " 

"  Probably." 

"  Which  had  we  better  do?  " 

"  I  should  not  venture  to  advise.     Suit  yourself,  .1  will 
obey  orders." 
"  If  you  were  alone  what  would  you  do  ?  " 

"  Swim  across." 

Sylvia  looked  disturbed,  Warwick  impenetrable,  the  riv 
er  wide,  the  road  long,  and  the  cliffs  the  most  inaccessible 
of  places.  An  impressive  pause  ensued,  then  she  said 
frankly  — 

"  It  is  my  own  fault  and  I'll  take  the  consequences.  I 
choose  the  bridge  and  lea.ve  you-  the  river.  If  I  don't  ap 
pear  till  dawn,  tell  Mark  I  sent  him  a  good  night,"  and 
girding  up  her  energies  she  walked  bravely  off  with  much 
external  composure  and  internal  chagrin. 

As  before,  Warwick  followed  in  silence.  For  a  time 
she  kept  in  advance,  then  allowed  him  to  gain  upon  her, 
and  presently  fell  behind,  plodding  doggedly  on  through 
thick  and  thin,  vainly  trying  to  conceal  the  hunger  and 


THROUGH  FLOOD  AND  FIELD  AND  FIRE.    75 

fatigue  that  were  fast  robbing  her  of  both  strength  and 
spirits.  Adam  watched  her  with  a  masculine  sense  of  the 
justice  of  the  retribution  which  his  wilful  comrade  had 
brought  upon  herself.  But  ay  he  saw  the  elasticity  leave 
her  steps,  the  color  fade  from  her  cheeks,  the  resolute 
mouth  relax,  and  the  wistful  eyes  dim  once  or  twice  with 
tears  of  weariness  and  vexation,  pity  got  the  better  of  pique, 
and  he  relented.  His  steady  tramp  came  to  a  halt,  and 
stopping  by  a  wayside  spring,  he  pointed  to  a  mossy  stone, 
saying  with  no  hint  of  superior  powers  — 

"  We  are  tired,  let  us  rest." 

Sylvia  dropped  down  at  once,  and  for  a  few  minutes 
neither  spoke,  for  the  air  was  full  of  sounds  more  pertinent 
to  the  summer  night  than  human  voices.  From  the  copse 
behind  them,  came  the  coo  of  wood-pigeons,  from  the  grass 
at  their  feet  the  plaintive  chirp  of  crickets  ;  a  busy  breeze 
whispered  through  the  willow,  the  little  spring  dripped 
musically  from  the  rock,  and  across  the  meadows  came  the 
sweet  chime  of  a  bell.  Twilight  was  creeping  over  forest, 
hill,  and  stream,  and  seemed  to  drop  refreshment  -and  re 
pose  upon  all  weariness  of  soul  and  body,  more  grateful  to 
Sylvia,  than  the  welcome  seat  and  leafy  cup  of  water  War 
wick  brought  her  from  the  spring. 

The  appearance  of  a  thirsty  sparrow  gave  her  thoughts  a 
pleasant  turn,  for,  sitting  motionless,  she  watched  the  little 
creature  trip  down  to  the  pool,  drink  and  bathe,  then  flying 
to  a  willow  spray,  dress  its  feathers,  dry  its  wings,  and  sit 
chirping  softly  as  if  it  sang  its  evening  hymn.  Warwick 
saw  her  interest,  and  searching  in  his  pocket,  found  the 
relics  of  a  biscuit,  strewed  a  few  bits  upon  the  ground  be 
fore  him,  and  began  a  low,  sweet  whistle,  which  rose  grad 
ually  to  a  varied  strain,  alluring,  spirited,  and  clear  as  any 


76  MOODS. 

bird  voice  of  the  wood.  Little  sparrow  ceased  his  twitter, 
listened  with  outstretched  neck  and  eager  eye,  hopping 
restlessly  from  twig  to  twig,  until  he  hung  just  over  the 
musician's  head,  agitated  with  a  small  nutter  of  surprise, 
delight,  and  doubt.  Gathering  a  crumb  or  two  into  hia 
hand,  Warwick  held  it  toward  the  bird,  while  softer,  sweet- 
er,  and  more  urgent  rose  the  invitation,  and  nearer  and 
nearer  drew  the  winged  guest,  fascinated  by  the  spell. 

Suddenly  a  belated  blackbird  lit  upon  the  wall,  survey 
ed  the  group  and  burst  into  a  jubilant  song,  that  for  a 
moment  drowned  his  rival's  notes.  Then,  as  if  claiming 
the  reward,  he  fluttered  to  the  grass,  ate  his  fill,  took  a  sip 
from  the  mossy  basin  by  the  way,  and  flew  singing  over  the 
river,  leaving  a  trail  of  music  behind  him.  There  was  a 
dash  and  daring  about  this  which  fired  little  sparrow  with 
emulation.  His  last  fear  seemed  conquered,  and  he  flew 
confidingly  to  Warwick's  palm,  pecking  the  crumbs  with 
grateful  chirps  and  friendly  glances  from  its  quick,  bright 
eye.  It  was  a  pretty  picture  for  the  girl  to  see ;  the  man, 
an  image  of  power,  in  his  hand  the  feathered  atom,  that, 
with  unerring  instinct,  divined  and  trusted  the  superior 
nature  which  had  not  yet  lost  its  passport  to  the  world  of 
innocent  delights  that  Nature  gives  to  those  who  love  her 
best.  Involuntarily  Sylvia  clapped  her  hands,  and,  startled 
by  the  sudden  sound,  little  sparrow  skimmed  away. 

"  Thank  you  for  the  pleasantest  sight  I've  seen  for  many 
a  day.  How  did  you  learn  this  gentle  art,  Mr.  Warwick  ?  " 

"  I  was  a  solitary  boy,  and  found  my  only  playmates  in 
the  woods  and  fields.  I  learned  their  worth,  they  saw  my 
need,  and  when  I  asked  their  friendship,  gave  it  freely. 
Now  we  should  go  ;  you  are  very  tired,  let  me  help  you." 

He  held  his  hand  to  her,  and  she  put  her  own  into  it  with 


THROUGH  FLOOD  AND  FIELD  AND  FIRE.    77 

a  confidence  as  instinctive  as  the  bird's.  Then,  hand  in 
hand  they  crossed  the  bridge  and  struck  into  the  wilderness 
again ;  climbing  slopes  still  warm  and  odorous,  passing 
through  dells  full  of  chilly  damps,  along  meadows  spangled 
with  fire-flies,  and  haunted  by  sonorous  frogs ;  over  rocks 
crisp  with  pale  mosses,  and  between  dark  firs,  where  shadows 
brooded,  and  melancholy  breezes  rocked  themselves  to  sleep. 
Speaking  seldom,  yet  feeling  no  consciousness  of  silence,  no 
sense  of  restraint,  for  they  no  longer  seemed  like  strangers 
to  one  another,  and  this  spontaneous  friendliness  lent  an 
indefinable  charm  to  the  dusky  walk.  Warwick  found  sat 
isfaction  in  the  knowledge  of  her  innocent  faith  in  him,  the 
touch  of  the  little  hand  he  held,  the  sight  of  the  quiet  fig 
ure  at  his  side.  Sylvia  felt  that  it  was  pleasant  to  be  the 
object  of  his  care,  fancied  that  they  would  learn  to  know 
each  other  better  in  three  days  of  this  free  life  than  in  as 
many  months  at  home,  and  rejoiced  over  the  discovery  of 
unsuspected  traits  in  him,  like  the  soft  lining  of  the  chest 
nut  burr,  to  which  she  had  compared  him  more  than  once 
that  afternoon.  So,  mutually  and  unconsciously  yielding 
to  the  influence  of  the  hour  and  the  mood  it  brought 
them,  they  walked  through  the  twilight  in  that  eloquent 
silence  which  often  proves  more  persuasive  than  the  most 
fluent  speech. 

The  welcome  blaze  of  their  own  fire  gladdened  them  at 
length,  and  when  the  last  step  was  taken,  Sylvia  sat  down 
with  an  inward  conviction  she  never  could  get  up  again. 
Warwick  told  their  mishap  in  the  fewest  possible  words, 
while  Mark,  in  a  spasm  of  brotherly  solicitude,  goaded  the 
fire  to  a  roar  that  his  sister's  feet  might  be  dried,  adminis 
tered  a  cordial  as  a  preventive  against  cold,  and  prescribed 
her  hammock  the  instant  supper  was  done.  She  went 
70 


78  MOODS. 

away  with  him,  but  a  moment  after  she  came  to  Warwick 
with  a  box  of  Prue's  ointment  and  a  soft  handkerchief  strip 
ped  into  bandages. 

•'What  now?"  he  asked. 

"  I  wish  to  dress  your  burns,  sir." 

"  They  will  do  well  enough  with  a  little  water;  go  you 
and  rest." 

"  Mr.  Warwick,  you  know  you  ate  your  supper  with 
your  left  hand,  and  put  both  behind  you  when  you  saw  me 
looking  at  them.  Please  let  me  make  them  easier ;  they 
were  burnt  for  me,  and  I  shall  get  no  sleep  till  I  have  had 
my  way." 

There  was  a  curious  mixture  of  command  and  entreaty 
in  her  manner,  and  before  their  owner  had  time  to  refuse  or 
comply,  the  scorched  hands  were  taken  possession  of,  the 
red  blisters  covered  with  a  cool  bandage,  and  the  frown  of 
pain  smoothed  out  of  Warwick's  forehead  by  the  prospect 
of  relief.  As  she  tied  the  last  knot,  Sylvia  glanced  up 
with  a  look  that  mutely  asked  pardon  for  past  wayward 
ness,  and  expressed  gratitude  for  past  help  ;  then,  as  if  her 
heart  were  set  at  rest,  she  was  gone  before  her  patient  could 
return  his  thanks. 

She  did  not  reappear,  Mark  went  to  send  a  lad  after  the 
lost  boat,  and  the  two  friends  were  left  alone;  Warwick 
watching  the  blaze,  Moor  watching  him,  till,  with  a  nod 
toward  a  pair  of  diminutive  boots  that  stood  turning  out 
their  toes  before  the  fire,  Adam  said  — 

"  The  wearer  of  those  defiant- looking  articles  is  the  most 
capricious  piece  of  humanity  it  was  ever  my  fortune  to  see. 
You  have  no  idea  of  the  life  she  has  led  me  since  you  left." 

"  I  can  imagine  it." 

"  She  is  as  freakish,  and  'wears  as  many  shapes  as  Puck ; 


THROUGH   FLOOD    AND   FIELD   AND    FIRE.         79 

a  gnat,  a  will-o'-the-wisp,  a  Sister  of  Charity,  a  meek-faced 
child  ;  and  one  does  not  know  in  which  guise  she  pleases 
most.  Hard  the  task  of  him  who  has  and  tries  to  hold 
her. 

"  Hard  yet  happy ;  for  a  word  will  tame  the  high  spirit, 
a  look  touch  the  warm  heart,  a  kind'  act  be  repaid  with  one 
still  kinder.  She  is  a  woman  to  be  studied  well,  taught 
tenderly,  and,  being  won,  cherished  with  an  affection  that 
knows  no  shadow  of  a  change." 

Moor  spoke  low,  and  on  his  face  the  fire-light  seemed  to 
shed  a  ruddier  glow  than  it  had  done  before.  Warwick 
eyed  him  keenly  for  a  moment,  then  said,  with  his  usual 
abruptness  — 

''Geoffrey,  you  should  marry." 

"  Set  me  the  example  by  mortgaging  your  own  heart, 
Adam." 

"  I  have." 

"  I  thought  so.     Tell  me  the  romance." 

"  It  is  the  old  story  —  a  handsome  woman,  a  foolish  man ; 
a  few  weeks  of  doubt,  a  few  of  happiness ;  then  the  two 
stand  apart  to  view  the  leap  before  they  take  it ;  after  that, 
peace  or  purgatory,  as  they  choose  well  or  ill." 

"  "When  is  the  probation  over,  Adam  ?  " 

"  In  June,  God  willing." 

The  hope  of  deliverance  gave  to  Warwick's  tone  the 
fervor  of  desire,  and  led  his  friend  to  believe  in  the  exist 
ence  of  a  passion  deep  and  strong  as  the  heart  he  knew  so 
well.  No  further  confessions  disturbed  his  satisfaction,  for 
Warwick  scorned  complaint ;  pity  he  would  not  receive, 
sympathy  was  powerless  to  undo  the  past,  time  alone  would 
mend  it,  and  to  time  he  looked  for  help.  He  rose  presently 
as  if  bedward  bound,  but  paused  behind  Moor,  turned  hia 


60  MOODS. 

face  upward,  and  said,  bending  on  it  a  look  given  to  this 
friend  alone  — 

"  If  my  confidence  were  a  good  gift,  you  should  have  it. 
But  my  experience  must  not  mar  your  faith  in  womankind. 
Keep  it  as  chivalrous  as  ever,  and  may  God  send  you  the 
mate  whom  you  deserve.  Geoffrey,  good  night" 

"  Good  night,  Adam." 

And  with  a  hand-shake  more  expressive  of  affection  than 
many  a  tenderer  demonstration,  they  parted  —  Warwick  ta 
watch  the  stars  for  hours,  and  Moor  to  muse  beside  the  fire 
till  the  little  boots  were  dry. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A    GOLDEN    WEDDING. 

HITHERTO  they  had  been  a  most  decorous  crew,  but  tho 
next  morning  something  in  the  air  seemed  to  cause  a  general 
overflow  of  spirits,  and  they  went  up  the  river  like  a  party 
of  children  on  a  merry-making.  Sylvia  decorated  herself 
with  garlands  till  she  looked  like  a  mermaid ;  Mark,  as 
skipper,  issued  his  orders  with  the  true  Marblehead  twang ; 
Moor  kept  up  a  fire  of  pun-provoking  raillery;  Warwick 
sung  like  a  jovial  giant ;  while  the  Kelpie  danced  over  the 
water  as  if  inspired  with  the  universal  gayety,  and  the  very 
ripples  seemed  to  laugh  as  they  hurried  by. 

"  Mark,  there  is  a  boat  coming  up  behind  us  with  three 
gentlemen  in  it,  who  evidently  intend  to  pass  us  with  a 
great  display  of  skill.  Of  course  you  won't  let  it,"  said 
Sylvia,  welcoming  the  prospect  of  a  race. 

Her  brother  looked  over  his  shoulder,  took  a  critical  sur 
vey,  and  nodded  approvingly. 

"  They  are  worth  a  lesson,  and  shall  have  it.  Easy,  now, 
till  they  pass ;  then  hard  all,  and  give  them  a  specimen  of 
high  art." 

A  sudden  lull  ensued  on  board  the  Kelpie  while  the  blue 
shirts  approached,  caught,  and  passed  with  a  great  display 
of  science,  as  Sylvia  had  prophesied,  and  as  good  an  imita 
tion  of  the  demeanor  of  experienced  watermen  as  could  be 


82  MOODS. 

assumed  by  a  trio  of  studious  youths  not  yet  out  of  their 
teens.  As  the  foam  of  their  wake  broke  against  the  other 
boat's  side,  Mark  hailed  them  — 

"  Good  morning,  gentlemen  !  We  '11  wait  for  you  above 
there,  at  the  bend." 

"  All  serene,"  returned  the  rival  helmsman,  with  a  bow 
in  honor  of  Sylvia,  while  the  other  two  caused  a  per 
ceptible  increase  in  the  speed  of  the  "  Juanita,"  whose 
sentimental  name  was  not  at  all  in  keeping  with  its  rakish 
appearance. 

"  Short-sighted  infants,  to  waste  their  wind  in  that  style  ; 
but  they  pull  well  for  their  years,"  observed  Mark,  pater 
nally,  as  he  waited  till  the  others  had  gained  sufficient 
advantage  to  make  the  race  a  more  equal  one.  "  Now. 
then  !  "  he  whispered  a  moment  after ;  and,  as  if  suddeiiry 
endowed  with  life,  the  Kelpie  shot  away  with  the  smooth 
speed  given  by  strength  and  skill.  Sylvia  watched  both 
boats,  yearning  to  take  an  oar  herself,  yet  full  of  admira 
tion  for  the  well-trained  rowers,  whose  swift  strokes  set  the 
river  in  a  foam  and  made  the  moment  one  of  pleasure  and 
excitement.  The  blue  shirts  did  their  best  against  com 
petitors  who  had  rowed  in  many  crafts  and  many  waters. 
They  kept  the  advantage  till  near  the  bend,  then  Mark's 
crew  lent  their  reserved  strength  to  a  final  effort,  and  bend 
ing  to  their  oars  with  a  will,  gained  steadily,  till,  with  a 
triumphant  stroke,  they  swept  far  ahead,  and  with  oars  at 
rest  waited  in  magnanimous  silence  till  the  Juanita  came 
up,  gracefully  confessing  her  defeat  by  a  good-humored 
cheer  from  her  panting  crew. 

For  a  moment  the  two  boats  floated  side  by  side,  while 
the  young  men  interchanged  compliments  and  jokes,  for  a 
river  is  a  highway  where  all  travellers  may  salute  each 


A    GOLDEN    WEDDING.  83 

other,  and  college  boys  are  "  Hail  fellow!  well  met"  with 
all  the  world. 

Sylvia  sat  watching  the  lads,  and  one  among  them  struck 
her  fancy.  The  helmsman  who  had  bowed  to  her  was  slight 
and  swarthy,  with  Southern  eyes,  vivacious  manners,  and  a 
singularly  melodious  voice.  A  Spaniard,  she  thought,  and 
pleased  herself  with  this  picturesque  figure  till  a  traitorous 
smile  about  the  young  man's  mouth  betrayed  that  he  was 
not  unconscious  of  her  regard.  She  colored  as  she  met  the 
glance  of  mingled  mirth  and  admiration  that  he  gave  her, 
and  hastily  began  to  pull  off  the  weedy  decorations  which 
she  had  forgotten.  But  she  paused  presently,  for  she  heard 
a  surprised  voice  exclaim  — 

"  Why,  Warwick !  is  that  you  or  your  ghost  ?  " 

Looking  up  Sylvia  saw  Adam  lift  the  hat  he  had  pulled 
over  his  brows,  and  take  a  slender  brown  hand  extended  over 
the  boat-side  with  something  like  reluctance,  as  he  answered 
the  question  in  Spanish.  A  short  conversation  ensued,  in 
which  the  dark  stranger  seemed  to  ask  innumerable  ques 
tions,  Warwick  to  give  curt  replies,  and  the  names  Gabriel 
and  Ottila  to  occur  with  familiar  frequency.  Sylvia  knew 
nothing  of  the  language,  but  received  an  impression  that 
Warwick  was  not  overjoyed  at  the  meeting ;  that  the  youth 
was  both  pleased  and  perplexed  by  finding  him  there ;  and 
that  neither  parted  with  much  regret  as  the  distance  slowly 
widened  between  the  boats,  and  with  a  farewell  salute  parted 
company,  each  taking  a  different  branch  of  the  river,  which 
divided  just  there. 

"For  the  first  time  Warwick  allowed  Mark  to  take  his 
place  at  the  oar,  and  sat  looking  into  the  clear  depths  below 
as  if  some  scene  lay  there  which  other  eyes  could  not  dis 
cover. 


81  MOODS. 

"  Who  was  the  olive-colored  party  with  the  fine  eyes  and 
foreign  accent  ct  "  asked  Mark,  lazily  rowing. 

"  Gabriel  Andre." 

"  Is  he  an  Italian?" 

'  No ;  a  Cuban." 

•"  I  forgot  you  had  tried  that  mixture  of  Spain  and  Ala 
bama.     How  was  it  ?  " 

"  As  such  climates  always  are  to  me,  —  intoxicating  to 
day,  enervating  to-morrow." 

"  How  long  were  you  there  ?  " 

"Three  months." 

"  I  feel  tropically  inclined,  so  tell  us  about  it." 

"  There  is  nothing  to  tell." 

"  I'll  prove  that  by  a  catechism.      Where  did  you  stay?  " 

"  In  Havana." 

"  Of  course,  but  with  whom  ?  " 

"  Gabriel  Andre." 

"  The  father  of  the  saffron  youth  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Of  whom  did  the  family  consist?  " 

"  Four  persons." 

"  Mark,  leave  Mr.  Warwick  alone." 

'•  As  long  as  he  answers  I  shall  question.    .Name  the 
four  persons,  Adam." 

"  Gabriel,  sen.,  Dolores  his  wife,  Gabriel,  jun.,  Catalina, 
his  sister." 

"Ah!   now  we   progress.      Was   seiiorita   Catalina   aa 
comely  as  her  brother  ?  " 

"  More  so." 

"  You  adored  her,  of  course  ?  " 

"  I  loved  her." 

''Great  heavens  T  what  discoveries  we  make.     He  likes 


A   GOLDEX    WEDDING.  85 

it,  I  know  by  the  satirical  glimmer  in  his  eye  ;  therefore  I 
continue.  She  adored  you,  of  course  ?  " 

"  She  loved  me." 

"  You  will  return  and  marry  her  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Your  depravity  appals  me." 

"  Did  I  volunteer  its  discovery  ?  " 

"  I  demand  it  now.  You  left  this  girl  believing  that  yon 
adored  her  ?  " 

"  She  knew  I  was  fond  of  her." 

"  The  parting  was  tender  ?  " 

"  On  her  part." 

"  Iceberg !  she  wept  in  your  arms?  " 

"  And  gave  me  an  orange." 

"  You  cherished  it,  of  course?  " 

"I  ate  it  immediately." 

"  What  want  of  sentiment !     You  promised  to  return  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  But  will  never  keep  the  promise  ?  " 

"  I  never  break  one." 

"  Yet  will  not  marry  her?  " 

"  By  no  means." 

"  A.sk  how  old  the  lady  was,  Mark  ?  " 

"Age,  Warwick?" 

"  Seven." 

Mark  caught  a  crab  of  the  largest  size  at  this  reply,  and 
remained  where  he  fell,  among  the  ruins  of  the  castle  in 
Spain,  which  he  had  erected  with  the  scanty  materials 
vouchsafed  to  him,  while  Warwick  went  back  to  his  medi 
tations.  * 

A  drop  of  rain  roused  Sylvia  from  the  contemplation  of 
an  imaginary  portrait  of  the  little  Cuban  girl,  and  looking 
s 


86  MOODS. 

skyward  she  saw  that  the  frolicsome  wind"  had  prepared  a 
practical  joke  for  them  in  the  shape  of  a  thunder-shower. 
A  consultation  was  held,  and  it  was  decided  to  row  on  till  a 
house  appeared,  in  which  they  would  take  refuge  till  the 
storm  was  over.  On  they  went,  but  the  rain  was  in  greater 
haste  than  they,  and  a  summary  drenching  was  effected 
before  the  toot  of  a  dinner-horn  guided  them  to  shelter 
Landing  they  marched  oyer  the  fields,  a  moist  and  mirthful 
company,  toward  a  red  farm-house  standing  under  venerable 
elms,  with  a  patriarchal  air  which  promised  hospitable 
treatment  and  good  cheer.  A  promise  speedily  fulfilled  by 
the  lively  old  woman,  who  appeared  with  an  energetic 
"  Shoo  !  "  for  the  speckled  hens  congregated  in  the  porch, 
and  a  hearty  welcome  for  the  weather-beaten  strangers. 

"  Sakes  alive  !  "  she  exclaimed ;  "  you  be  in  a  mess,  aint 
you  ?  Come  right  in  and  make  yourselves  to  home.  Abel, 
take  the  men  folks  up  chamber,  and  fit  'em  out  with  any 
thing  dry  you  kin  lay  hands  on.  Phebe,  see  to.  this  poor 
little  creeter,  and  bring  her  down  lookin'  less  like  a  drownded 
kitten.  Nat,  clear  up  your  wittlin's,  so  's't  they  kin  toast 
their  feet  when  they  come  down ;  and,  Cinthy,  don't  dish 
up  dinner  jest  yet" 

These  directions  were  given  with  such  vigorous  illustra 
tion,  and  the  old  face  shone  with  such  friendly  zeal,  that 
the  four  submitted  at  once,  sure  that  the  kind  soul  was 
pleasing  herself  in  serving  them,  and  finding  something 
very  attractive  in  the  place,  the  people,  and  their  own  posi 
tion.  Abel,  a  staid  farmer  of  forty,  obeyed  his  mother's 
order  regarding  the  "  men  folks ;  "  and  Phebe,  a  buxom 
girl  of  sixteen,  led  Sylvia  to  her  own  room,  eagerly  offering 
her  best. 

As  she  dried  and  redressed  herself  Sylvia  made  sundry 


A   GOLDEN   WEDDING.  87 

ai&coveries,  which  added  to  the  romance  and  the  enjoyment 
of  the  adventure.  A  smart  gown  lay  on  the  bed  in  the  low 
chamber,  also  various  decorations  upon  chair  and  table, 
suggesting  that  some  festival  was  afloat ;  and  a  few  ques 
tions  elicited  the  facts.  Grandpa  had  seven  sons  and  three 
daughters,  all  living,  all  married,  and  all  blessed  with  flocks 
of  children.  Grandpa's  birthday  was  always  celebrated  by 
a  family  gathering ;  but  to-day,  being  the  fiftieth  anniver 
sary  of  his  wedding,  the  various  households  had  resolved 
to  keep  it  with  unusual  pomp  ;  and  all  were  coming  for  a 
supper,  a  dance,  and  a  "  sing  "  at  the  end.  Upon  receipt 
of  which  intelligence  Sylvia  proposed  an  immediate  depar 
ture  ;  but  the  grandmother  and  daughter  cried  out  at  this, 
pointed  to  the  still  falling  rain,  the  lowering  sky,  the  wet 
heap  on  the  floor,  and  insisted  on  the  strangers  all  remain 
ing  to  enjoy  the  festival,  and  give  an  added  interest  by  their 
presence. 

Half  promising  what  she  wholly  desired,  Sylvia  put  on 
Phebe's  second  best  blue  gingham  gown  for  the  preservation 
of  which  she  added  a  white  apron,  and  completing  the 
whole  with  a  pair  of  capacious  shoes,  went  down  to  find  her 
party  and  reveal  the  state  of  affairs.  They  were  bestowed 
in  the  prim,  best  parlor,  and  greeted  her  with  a  peal  of 
laughter,  for  all  were  en  costume.  Abel  was  a  stout  man, 
and  his  garments  hung  upon  Moor  with  a  melancholy  air  ; 
Mark  had  disdained  them,  and  with  an  eye  to  effect  laid 
hands  on  an  old  uniform,  in  which  he  looked  like  a  volun 
teer  of  1812 ;  while  Warwick's  superior  height  placed 
Abel's  wardrobe  out  of  the  question  ;  and  grandpa,  taller 
than  any  of  his  seven  goodly  sons,  supplied  him  with  a  sober 
suit,  —  roomy,  square-flapped,  and  venerable,  —  which  be 
came  him,  and  with  his  beard  produced  the  curious  effect 


MOODS. 

of  a  youthful  patriarch.  To  Sylvia's  relief  it  was  unani 
mously  decided  to  remain,  trusting  to  their  own  penetration 
to  discover  the  most  agreeable  method  of  returning  the 
favor ;  and  regarding  the  adventure  as  a  welcome  change, 
after  two  days'  solitude,  all  went  out  to  dinner  prepared  to 
enact  their  parts  with  spirit. 

The  meal  being  despatched,  Mark  and  Warwick  went  to 
help  Abel  with  some  out-door  arrangements ;  and  begging 
grandma  to  consider  him  one  of  her  own  boys,  Moor  tied 
on  an  apron  and  fell  to  work  with  Sylvia,  laying  the  long 
table  which  was  to  receive  the  coming  stores.  True  breed 
ing  is  often  as  soon  felt  by  the  uncultivated  as  by  the 
cultivated;  and  the  zeal  with  which  the  strangers  threw 
themselves  into  the  business  of  the  hour  won  the  family, 
and  placed  them  all  in  friendly  relations  at  once.  The  old 
lady  let  them  do  what  they  would,  admiring  everything,  and 
declaring  over  and  over  again  that  her  new  assistants  "  beat 
her  boys  and  girls  to  nothin'  with  their  tastiness  and  smart 
ness."  Sylvia  trimmed  the  table  with  common  flowers  till 
it  was  an  inviting  sight  before  a  viand  appeared  upon  it, 
and  hung  green  boughs  about  the  room,  with  candles  here 
and  there  to  lend  a  festal  light.  Moor  trundled  a  great 
cheese  in  from  the  dairy,  brought  milk-pans  without  mis 
hap,  disposed  dishes,  and  caused  Nat  to  cleave  to  him  by 
the  administration  of  surreptitious  titbits  and  jocular  sug 
gestions  ;  while  Phebe  tumbled  about  in  every  one's  way, 
quite  wild  with  excitement;  and  grandma  stood  in  her 
pantry  like  a  culinary  general,  swaying  a  big  knife  for  a 
baton,  as  she  issued  orders  and  marshalled  her  forces,  the 
busiest  and  merriest  of  them  all  . 

When  the  last  touch  was  given,  Moor  discarded  his  apron 
and  went'  to  join  Mark.  Sylvia  presided  over  Phebe's 


A   GOLDEN   WEDDING.  89 

toilet,  and  then  sat  herself  down  to  support  Nat  through 
the  trying  half  hour  before,  as  he  expressed  it,  "  the  party 
came  in."  The  twelve  years'  boy  was  a  cripple,  one  of 
those  household  blessings  which,  in  the  guise  of  an  afflic 
tion,  keep  many  hearts  tenderly  united  by  a  common  love 
and  pity.  A  cheerful  creature,  always  chirping  like  a 
cricket  on  the  hearth  as  he  sat  carving  or  turning  bits 
of  wood  into  useful  or  ornamental  shapes  for  such  as  cared 
to  buy  them  of  him,  and  hoarding  up  the  proceeds  like  a 
little  miser  for  one  more  helpless  than  himself. 

"  What  are  these,  Nat  ?  "  asked  Sylvia,  with  the  interest 
that  always  won  small  people^  because  their  quick  instincts 
felt  that  it  was  sincere. 

"  Them  are  spoons  —  'postle  spoons,  they  call  'em.  You 
see  I  've  got  a  cousin  what  reads  a  sight,  and  one  day  he 
says  to  me,  '  Nat,  in  a  book  I  see  somethin'  about  a  set  of 
spoons  with  a  'postle's  head  on  each  of  'em ;  you  make 
some  and  they  '11  sell,  I  bet.'  So  I  got  gramper's  Bible, 
found  the  picters  of  the  'postles,  and  worked  and  worked 
till  I  got  the  faces  good ;  and  now  it 's  fun,  for  they  do  sell, 
and  I  'm  savin'  up  a  lot.  It  ain't  for  me,  you  know,  but 
mother,  'cause  she's  wuss'n  I  be." 

"  Is  she  sick,  Nat  ?  " 

"Oh,  ain't  she  I  Why  she  hasn't  stood  up  this  nine 
year.  We  was  smashed  in  a  wagon  that  tipped  over  when 
I  was  three  years  old.  It  done  somethin'  to  my  legs,  but  it 
broke  her  back,  and  made  her  no  use,  only  jest  to  pet  me, 
and  keep  us  all  kind  of  stiddy,  you  know.  Ain't  you  seen 
her  ?  Don't  you  want  to  ?  " 

"Would  she  like  it?" 

"  She  admires  to  see  folks,  and  asked  about  you  at  din- 
ner ;  so  I  guess  you  'd  better  go  see  her.  Look  ahere,  jou 
80 


90  MOODS. 

like  them  spoons,  and  I'm  agoin'  to  give  you  one  ;  I'd 
give  you  all  on  'em  if  they  wasn't  promised.  I  can  make 
one  more  in  time,  so  you  jest  take  your  pick,  'cause  I  like 
you,  and  want  you  not  to  forgit  me  " 

Sylvia  chose  Saint  John,  because  it  resembled  Moor,  she 
thought ;  bespoke  and  paid  for  a  whole  set,  and  privately 
resolved  to  send  tools  and  rare  woods  to  the  little  artist  that 
he  might  serve  his  mother  in  his  own  pretty  way.  Then 
Nat  took  up  his  crutches  and  hopped  nimbly  before^  her  to 
the  room,  where  a  plain,  serene-faced  woman  lay  knitting, 
with  her  best  cap  on,  her  clean  handkerchief  and  large 
green  fan  laid  out  upon  the  coverlet.  This  was  evidently  the 
best  room  of  the  house  ;  and  as  Sylvia  sat  talking  to  the  in 
valid  her  'eye  discovered  many  traces  of  that  refinement 
which  comes  through  the  affections.  Nothing  seemed  too 
good  for  "  daughter  Patience ;  "  birds,  books,  flowers,  and 
pictures  we?e  plentiful  here  though  visible  nowhere  else. 
Two  easy-chairs  beside  the  bed  showed  where  the  ol'd 
folks  ofteriest  sat ;  Abel's  home  corner  was  there  by  the 
antique  desk  covered  with  farmers'  literature  and  samples 
of  seeds  ;  Phebe's  work-basket  stood  in  the  window  ;  Nat's 
lathe  in  the  sunniest  corner ;  and  from  the  speckless  carpet 
to  the  canary's  clear  water-glass  all  was ,  exquisitely  neat, 
for  love  and  labor  were  the  handmaids  who  served  the  help 
less  woman  and  asked  no  wages  but  her  comfort. 

Sylvia  amused  her  new  friends  mightily,  for. finding  that 
neither  mother  nor  son  had  any  complaints  to  make,  any 
sympathy  to  ask,  she  exerted  herself  to  give  them  what 
both  needed,  and  kept  them  laughing  by  a  lively  recital  of 
her  voyage  and  its  mishaps. 

"  Aint  she  prime,  mother?  "  was  Nat's  candid  commen 
tary  when  the  story  ended,  anl  he  emerged  red  and  shiny 


A    GOLDEN    WEDDING.  91 

from  the  pillows  where  he  had  burrowed  with  boyish  ex 
plosions  of  delight. 

"  She's  very  kind,  dear,  to  amuse  two  stay-at-home  folks 
like  you  and  me,  who  seldom  see  what's  going  on  outside 
four  walls.  You  have  a  merry  heart,  miss,  and  I  hope 
will  keep  it  all  your  days,  for  it's  a  blessed  thing  to  own." 

"  I  think  you  have  something  better,  a  contented  one," 
said  Sylvia,  as  the  woman  regarded  her  with  no  sign  of 
envy  or  regret 

"  I  ought  to  have ;  nine  years  on  a  body's  back  can 
teach  a  sight  of  things  that  are  wuth  knowin'.  I've  learnt 
patience  pretty  well  I  guess,  and  contentedness  aint  fur 
away,  for  though  it  sometimes  seems  ruther  long  to  look 
forward  to,  perhaps  nine  more  years  layin'  here,  I  jest 
remember  it  might  have  been  wuss,  and  if  I  don't  do 
much  now  there's  all  eternity  to  come." 

Something  in  the  woman's  manner  struck  Sylvia  as  she 
watched  her  softly  beating  some  tune  on  the  sheet  with  her 
quiet  eyes  turned  toward  the  light.  Many  sermons  had 
been  less  eloquent  to  the  girl  than  the  look,  the  tone,  the 
cheerful  resignation  of  that  plain  face.  She  stooped  and 
kissed  it,  saying  gently  — 

"  I  shall  remember  this." 

"  Hooray  I  there  they  be  ;  I  hear  Ben !  " 

And  away  clattered  Nat  to  be  immediately  absorbed  into 
the  embraces  of  a  swarm  of  relatives  who  now  began  to 
arrive  in  a  steady  stream.  Old  and  young,  large  and 
small,  rich  and  poor,  with  overflowing  hands  or  trifles  hum 
bly  given,  all  were  received  alike,  all  hugged  by  grandpa, 
kissed  by  grandma,  shaken  half  breathless  by  Uncle  Abel, 
welcomed  by  Aunt  Patience,  and  danced  round  by  Phebe 
and  Nat  till  the  house  seemed  a  great  hive  of  hilarious  and 


92  MOODS. 

affectionate  bees.  At  first  the  strangers  stood  apart,  but 
Phebe  spread  their  story  with  such  complimentary  additions 
of  her  own  that  the  family  circle  opened  wide  and  took 
them  in  at  once. 

Sylvia  was  enraptured  with  the  wilderness  of  babies,  and 
leaving  the  others  to  their  own  devices  followed  the  matrons 
to  "Patience's  room,"  and  gave  herself  up  to  the  pleasant 
tyranny  of  the  small  potentates,  who  swarmed  over  her  as 
she  sat  on  the  floor,  tugging  at  her  hair,  exploring  her 
eyes,  covering  her  with  moist  kisses,  and  keeping  up  a 
babble  of  little  voices  more  delightful  to  her  than  the  dis 
course  of  the  flattered  mammas  who  benignly  surveyed  her 
admiration  and  their  offspring's  prowess. 

The  young  people  went  to  romp  in  the  barn ;  the  men, 
armed  with  umbrellas,  turned  out  en  masse  to  inspect  the 
farm  and  stock,  and  compare  notes  over  pig  pens  and  gar 
den  gates.  But  Sylvia  lingered  where  she  was,  enjoying  a 
scene  which  filled  her  with  a  tender  pain  and  pleasure,  for 
each  baby  was  laid  on  grandma's  knee,  its  small  virtues, 
vices,  ailments,  and  accomplishments  rehearsed,  its  beauties 
examined,  its  strength  tested,  and  the  verdict  of  the  family 
oracle  pronounced  upon  it  as  it  was  cradled,  kissed,  and 
blessed  on  the  kind  old  heart  which  had  room  for  every 
care  and  joy  of  those  who  called  her  mother.  It  was  a 
sight  the  girl  never  forgot,  because  just  then  she  was  ready 
to  receive  it.  Her  best  lessons  did  not  come  from  books, 
and  she  learned  one  then  as  she  saw  the  fairest  success  of 
a  woman's  life  while  watching  this  happy  grandmother  with 
fresh  faces  framing  her  withered  one,  daughterly  voices 
chorusing  good  wishes,  and  the  harvest  of  half  a  century  of 
wedded  life  beautifully  garnered  in  her  arms. 

The  fragrance  of  coffee  and  recollections  of  Cynthia's 


A    GOLDEN    WEDDING.  93 

joyful  aberrations  at  such  periods  caused  a  breaking  up  of 
the  maternal  conclave.  The  babies  were  borne  away  to 
simmer  between  blankets  until  called  for.  The  women 
unpacked  baskets,  brooded  over  teapots,  and  kept  up  an 
harmonious  clack  as  the  table  was  spread  with  pyramids  of 
cake,  regiments  of  pies,  quagmires  of  jelly,  snow-banks  of 
bread,  and  gold  mines  of  butter  ;  every  possible  article  of 
food,  from  baked  beans  to  wedding  cake,  finding  a  place  on 
that  sacrificial  altar. 

Fearing  to  be  in  the  way,  Sylvia  departed  to  the  barn, 
where  she  found  her  party  in  a  chaotic  Babel ;  for  the  off 
shoots  had  been  as  fruitful  as  the  parent  tree,  and  some 
four  dozen  young  immortals  were  in  full  riot.  The  bashful 
roosting  with  the  hens  on  remote  lofts  and  beams;  the  bold 
flirting  or  playing  in  the  full  light  of  day ;  the  boys  whoop 
ing,  the  girls  screaming,  all  effervescing  as  if  their  spirits 
had  reached  the  explosive  point  and  must  find  vent  in  noise. 
Mark  was  in  his  element,  introducing  all  manner  of  new 
games,  the  liveliest  of  the  old  and  keeping  the  revel  at  its 
height ;  for  rosy,  bright-eyed  girls  were  plenty,  and  the 
ancient  uniform  universally  approved.  Warwick  had  a 
flock  of  lads  about  him  absorbed  in  the  marvels  he  was 
producing  with  knife,  stick,  and  string ;  and  Moor  a  rival 
flock  of  little  lasses  breathless  with  interest  in  the  tales  he 
told.  One  on  each  knee,  two  at  each  side,  four  in  a  row 
on  the  hay  at  his  feet,  and  the  boldest  of  all  with  an  arm 
about  his  neck  and  a  curly  head  upon  his  shoulder,  for 
"Uncle  Abel's  clothes  seemed  to  invest  the  wearer  with  a 
passport  to  their  confidence  at  once.  Sylvia  joined  this 
group  and  partook  of  a  quiet  entertainment  with  as  child 
like  a  relish  as  any  of  them,  while  the  merry  tumult  went 
on  about  her. 


94  MOODS. 

The  toot  of  the  horn  sent  the  whole  barnful  streaming 
into  the  house  like  a  flock  of  hungry  chickens,  where,  by 
some  process  known  only  to  the  mothers  of  large  families, 
every  one  was  wedged  close  about  the  table,  and  the  feast 
began.  This  was  none  of  your  stand-up,  wafery,  bread  and 
butter  teas,  but  a  thorough-going,  sit-down  supper,  and 
all  settled  themselves  with  a  smiling  satisfaction,  prophetic 
of  great  powers  and  an  equal  willingness  to  employ  them. 
A  detachment  of  half-grown  girls  was  drawn  up  behind 
grandma,  as  waiters ;  Sylvia  insisted  on  being  one  of  them, 
and  proved  herself  a  neat-handed  Phillis,  though  for  a  time 
slightly  bewildered  by  the  gastronomic  performances  she 
beheld.  Babies  ate  pickles,  small  boys  sequestered  pie  with 
a  velocity  that  made  her  wink,  women  swam  in  the  tea,  and 
the  men,  metaphorically  speaking,  swept  over  the  table  like 
a  swarm  of  locusts,  while  the  host  and  hostess  beamed  upon 
one  another  and  their  robust  descendants  with  an  honest 
pride,  which  was  beautiful  to  see. 

"  That  Mr.  Wackett  ain't  eat  scursely  nothin',  he  jest 
sets  lookin'  round  kinder  'mazed  like.  Do  go  and  make 
him  fall  to  on  somethin',  or  I  shan't  take  a  mite  of  comfort 
in  my  vittles,"  said  grandma,  as  the  girl  came  with  an 
empty  cup. 

"He  is  enjoying  it  with  all  his  heart  and  eyes,  ma'am, 
for  we  don't  see  such  fine  spectacles  every  day.  I'll  take 
him  something  that  he  likes  and  make  him  eat  it." 

"  Sakes  alive!  be  you  to  be  Mis'  Wackett?  I'd  no  idee 
of  it,  you  look  so  young." 

"  Nor  I ;  we  are  only  friends,  ma'am." 

"  Oh  !  "  and  the  monosyllable  was  immensely  expressive, 
as  the  old  lady  confided  a  knowing  nod  to  the  teapot,  into 
whose  depths  she  was  just  then  peering.  Sylvia  walked 


A    GOLDEN    WEDDING.  95 

away  wondering  why  persons  were  always  thinking  and  say 
ing  such  things. 

As  she  paused  behind  Warwick's  chair  with  a  glass  of 
cream  and  a  round  of  brown  bread,  he  looked  up  at  her 
with  his  blandest  expression,  though  a  touch  of  something 
like  regret  was  in  his  voice. 

"  This  is  a  sight  worth  living  eighty  hard  years  to  see,  and 
I  envy  that  old  couple  as  I  never  envied  any  one  before. 
To  rear  ten  virtuous  children,  put  ten  useful  men  and 
women  into  the  world,  and  give  them  health  and  courage  to 
work  out  their  own  salvation  as  these  honest  souls  will  do, 
is  a  better  job  done  for  the  Lord,  than  winning  a  battle,  or 
ruling  a  State.  Here  is  all  honor  to  them.  Drink  it  with 
me." 

He  put  the  glass  to  her  lips,  drank  what  she  left,  and 
rising,  placed  her  in' his  seat  with  the  decisive  air  which 
few  resisted. 

"  You  take  no  thought  for  yourself  and  are  doing  too 
much  ;  sit  here  a  little,  and  let  me  take  a  few  steps  where 
you  have  taken  many." 

He  served  her,  and  standing  at  her  back,  bent  now  and 
then  to  speak,  still  with  that  softened  look  upon  the  face 
BO  seldom  stirred  by  the  gentler  emotions  that  lay  far 
down  in  that  deep  heart  of  his ;  for  never  had  he  felt  so 
solitary. 

All  things  must  have  an  end,  even  a  family  feast,  and 
by  the  time  the  last  boys  buttons  peremptorily  announced, 
'  Thus  far  shalt  thou  go  and  no  farther,'  all  professed  them 
selves  satisfied,  and  a  general  uprising  took  place.  The 
surplus  population  were  herded  in  parlor  and  chambers, 
while  a  few  energetic  hands  cleared  away,  and  with  much 
clattering  of  dishes  and  wafting  of  towels,  left  grandma's 


96  MOODS. 

epandy  clean  premises  as  immaculate  as  ever.  It  was  dark 
when  all  was  done,  so  the  kitchen  was  cleared,  the  candles 
lighted,  Patience's  door  set  open,  and  little  Nat  established 
in  an  impromptu  orchestra,  composed  of  a  table  and  a 
chair,  whence  the  first  squeak  of  his  fiddle  proclaimed  that 
the  ball  had  begun. 

Everybody  danced ;  the  babies  stacked  on  Patience's  bed, 
or  penned  behind  chairs,  sprawled  and  pranced  in  unsteady 
mimicry  of  their  elders.  Ungainly  farmers,  stiff  with  labor, 
recalled  their  early  days  and  tramped  briskly  as  they  swung 
their  wives  about  with  a  kindly  pressure  of  the  hard  hands 
that  had  worked  so  long  together.  Little  pairs  toddled 
gravely  through  the  figures,  or  frisked  promiscuously  in  a 
grand  conglomeration  of  arms  and  legs.  Gallant  cousins 
kissed  pretty  cousins  at  exciting  periods,  and  were  not  re 
buked.  Mark  wrought  several  of  these  incipient  lovers  to  a 
pitch  of  despair,  by  his  devotion  to  the  comeliest  damsels, 
and  the  skill  with  which  he  executed  unheard-of  evolutions 
before  their  admiring  eyes ;  Moor  led  out  the  poorest  and 
the  plainest  with  a  respect  that  caused  their  homely  faces 
to  shine,  and  their  scant  skirts  to  be  forgotten.  Warwick 
skimmed  his  five  years  partner  through  the  air  in  a  way 
that  rendered  her  speechless  with  delight ;  and  Sylvia  dan 
ced  as  she  never  danced  before.  With  sticky-fingered  boys, 
sleepy  with  repletion,  but  bound  to  last  it  out ;  with  rough- 
faced  men  who  paid  her  paternal  compliments ;  with  smart 
youths  who  turned  sheepish  with  that  white  lady's  hand  in 
their  big  brown  ones,  and  one  ambitious  lad  who  confided 
to  her  his  burning  desire  to  work  a  sawmill,  and  marry  a 
girl  with  black  eyes  and  yellow  hair.  While,  perched  aloft, 
Nat  bowed  away  till  his  pale  face  glowed,  till  all  hearts 
warmed,  all  feet  beat  responsive  to  the  good  old  tunes  which 


A    GOLDEN'    WEDDING.  97 

li  re  put  so  much  health  into  human  bodies,  and  so  much 
happiness  into  human  souls. 

At  the  stroke  of  nine  the  last  dance  came.  All  down  the 
long  kitchen  stretched  two  breathless  rows ;  grandpa  and 
grandma  at  the  top,  the  youngest  pair  of  grandchildren  at 
the  bottom,  and  all  between  fathers,  mothers,  uncles,  aunts, 
and  cousins,  while  such  of  the  babies  as  were  still  extant, 
bobbed  with  unabated  vigor,  as  Nat  struck  up  the  Virginia 
Reel,  and  the  sturdy  old  couple  led  off  as  gallantly  as  the 
young  one  who  came  tearing  up  to  meet  them.  Away  they 
went,  grandpa's  white  hair  flying  in  the  wind,  grandma's 
impressive  cap  awry  with  excitement,  as  they  ambled  down 
the  middle,  and  finished  with  a  kiss  when  their  tuneful 
journey  was  done,  amid  immense  applause  from  those  who 
regarded  this  as  the  crowning  event  of  the  day. 

When  all  had  had  their  turn,  and  twirled  till  they  were 
dizzy,  a  short  lull  took  place,  with  refreshments  for  such  as 
still  possessed  the  power  of  enjoying  them.  Then  Phebe 
appeared  with  an  armful  of  books,  and  all  settled  them 
selves  for  the  family  "  sing." 

Sylvia  had  heard  much  fine  music,  but  never  any  that 
toucl^ed  her  like  this,  for,  though  often  discordant,  it  was 
hearty,  with  that  under-current  of  feeling  which  adds  sweet 
ness  to  the  rudest  lay,  and  is  often  more  attractive  than  the 
most  florid  ornament  or  faultless  execution.  Every  one 
sang  as  every  one  had  danced,  with  all  their  might ;  shrill 
children,  soft-voiced  girls,  lullaby-singing  mothers,  gruff 
boys,  and  strong-lunged  men ;  the  old  pair  quavered,  and 
still  a  few  indefatigable  babies  crowed  behind  their  little 
coops.  Songs,  ballads,  comic  airs,  popular  melodies,  and 
hymns,  came  in  rapid  succession.  And  when  they  ended 
with  that  song  which  should  be  classed  with  sacred  inusio- 
9 


98  MOODS. 

for  association's  sake,  and  standing  hand  in  hand  about  the 
room  with  the  golden  bride  and  bridegroom  in  their  midst, 
sang  "  Home,"  Sylvia  leaned  against  her  brother  with  dim 
eyes  and  a  heart  too  full  to  sing. 

Still  standing  thus  when  the  last  note  had  soared  up  and 
died,  the  old  man  folded  his  hands  and  began  to  pray.  It 
was  an  old-fashioned  prayer,  such  as  the  girl  had  never 
heard  from  the  Bishop's  lips ;  ungrammatical,  inelegant,  and 
long.  A  quiet  talk  with  God,  manly  in  its  straightforward 
confession  of  short-comings,  childlike  in  its  appeal  for 
guidance,  fervent  in  its  gratitude  for  all  good  gifts,  and  the 
crowning  one  of  loving  children.  As  if  close  intercourse 
had  made  the  two  familiar,  this  human  father  turned  to  the 
Divine,  as  these  sons  and  daughters  turned  to  him,  as  free 
to  ask,  as  confident  of  a  reply,  as  all  afflictions,  blessings, 
cares,  and  crosses,  were  laid  down  before  him,  and  the  work 
of  eighty  years  submitted  to  his  hand.  There  were  no 
sounds  in  the  room  but  the  one  voice  often  tremulous  with 
emotion  and  with  age,  the  coo  of  some  dreaming  baby,  or  the 
low  sob  of  some  mother  whose  arms  were  empty,  as  the  old 
man  stood  there,  rugged  and  white  atop  as  the  granite  hills, 
with  the  old  wife  at  his  side,  a  circle  of  sons  and  daughters 
girdling  them  round,  and  in  all  hearts  the  thought  that  as 
the  former  wedding  had  been  made  for  time,  this  golden 
one  at  eighty  must  be  for  eternity. 

While  Sylvia  looked  and  listened  a  sense  of  genuine  de 
votion  stole  over  her ;  the  beauty  and  the  worth  of  prayer 
grew  clear  to  her  through  the  earnest  speech  of  that  unlet 
tered  man,  and  for  the  first  time  she  fully  felt  the  nearness 
and  the  dearness  of  the  Universal  Father,  whom  she  had 
been  taught  to  fear,  yet  longed  to  love. 

"  Now,  my  children,  you  must  go  before  the  little  folks 


A    GOLDEX    WEDDING.  1H> 

are  tuckered  out,"  said  Grandpa,  heartily.  "  Mother  and 
me  can't  say  enough  toe  thank  you  for  the  presents  you 
have  fetched  us,  the  dutiful  wishes  you  have  give  us,  the 
pride  and  comfort  you  have  allers  ben  toe  us.  I  aint  no 
l^ind  at  speeches,  so  I  shan't  make  none,  but  jest  say  ef 
any  'fliction  falls  on  any  on  you,  remember  mother's  here 
toe  help  you  bear  it ;  ef  any  worldly  loss  comes  toe  you, 
remember  father's  house  is  yourn  while  it  stans,  and  so  the 
Lord  bless  and  keep  us  all." 

"  Three  cheers  for  gramper  and  grammer ! "  roared  a 
six-foot  scion  as  a  safety  valve  for  sundry  unmasculine 
emotions,  and  three  rousing  hurras  made  the  rafters  ring, 
struck  terror  to  the  heart  of  the  oldest  inhabitant  of  the 
rat-haunted  garret,  and  summarily  woke  all  the  babies. 

Then  the  good-byes  began,  the  flurry  of  wrong  baskets, 
pails  and  bundles  in  wrong  places ;  the  sorting  out  of  small 
folk  too  sleepy  to  know  or  care  what  became  of  them  ;  the 
maternal  duckings,  and  paternal  shouts  for  Kitty,  Cy, 
Ben,  Bill,  or  Mary  Ann ;  the  piling  into  vehicles  with 
much  ramping  of  indignant  horses  unused  to  such  late 
hours ;  the  last  farewells,  the  roll  of  wheels,  as  one  by  one 
the  happy  loads  departed,  and  peace  fell  upon  the  household 
for  another  year. 

"  I  declare  for't,  I  never  had  sech  an  out  an  out  good 
time  sense  I  was  born  intoe  the  world.  Ab'ram,  you  are 
fit  to  drop,  and  so  be  I ;  now  let's  set  and  talk  it  over  along 
of  Patience  fore  we  go  toe  bed." 

The  old  couple  got  into  their  chairs,  and  as  they  sat  there 
side  by  side,  remembering  that  she  had  given  no  gift,  SyL= 
via  crept  behind  them,  and  lending  the  magic  of  her  voice 
to  the  simple  air,  sang  the  fittest  song  for  time  and  place  — 
"  John  Anderson  my  Jo."  It  was  too  much  for  grandma, 


100  MOODS. 

the  old  heart  overflowed,  and  reckless  of  the  cherished  cap 
she  laid  her  head  on  her  "John's"  shoulder,  exclaiming 
through  her  tears  — 

"  That's  the  cap  sheaf  of  the  hull,  and  I  can't  bear  no 
more  to-night.  Ab'ram,  lend  me  your  hankchif,  for  I  dunno^ 
where  mine  is,  and  my  face  is  all  of  a  drip." 

Before  the  red  bandana  had  gently  performed  its  work 
in  grandpa's  hand,  Sylvia  beckoned  her  party  fiom  the 
room,  and  showing  them  the  clear  moonlight  night  which 
followed  the  storm,  suggested  that  they  should  both  save 
appearances  and  enjoy  a  novel  pleasure  by  floating  home 
ward  instead  of  sleeping.  The  tide  against  which  they  had 
pulled  in  coming  up  would  sweep  them  rapidly  along,  and 
make  it  easy  to  retrace  in  a  few  hours  the  way  they  had 
loitered  over  for  three  days. 

The  pleasant  excitement  of  the  evening  had  not  yet  sub 
sided,  and  all  applauded  the  plan  as  a  fit  finale  to  their 
voyage.  The  old  lady  strongly  objected,  but  the  young 
people  overruled  her,  and  being  re-equipped  in  their  dam 
aged  garments  they  bade  the  friendly  family  a  grateful 
adieu,  left  their  more  solid  thanks  under  Nat's  pillow,  and 
re-embarked  upon  their  shining  road. 

All  night  Sylvia  lay  under  the  canopy  of  boughs  her 
brother  made  to  shield  her  from  the  dew,  listening  to  the 
soft  sounds  about  her,  the  twitter  of  a  restless  bird,  the 
bleat  of  some  belated  lamb,  the  ripple  of  a  brook  babbling 
like  a  baby  in  its  sleep.  All  night  she  watched  the  chang 
ing  shores,  silvery  green  or  dark  with  slumberous  shadow, 
and  followed  the  moon  in  its  tranquil  journey  through  the 
sky.  When  it  set,  she  drew  her  cloak  about  her,  and,  pil 
lowing  her  head  upon  her  arm,  exchanged  the  waking  for  a 
sleeping  dream. 


A    GOLDEN    WEDDING.  101 

A  thick  mist  encompassed  her  when  she  awoke.  Above 
the  sun  shone  dimly,  below  rose  and  fell  the  billows  of  the 
sea,  before  her  sounded  the  city's  fitful  hum,  and  far  be 
hind  her  lay  the  green  wilderness  where  she  had  lived  and 
learned  so  much.  Slowly  the  fog  lifted,  the  sun  came  daz 
zling  down  upon  the  sea,  and  out  into  the  open  bay  they 
sailed  with  the  pennon  streaming  in  the  morning  wind. 
But  still  with  backward  glance  the  girl  watched  the  misty 
wall  that  rose  between  her  and  the  charmed  river,  and  still 
with  yearning  heart  confessed  how  sweet  that  brief  experi 
ence  had  been,  for  though  she  had  not  yet  discovered  it, 
like 

"  The  fairy  Lady  of  Shalott, 
She  had  left  the  web  and  left  the  loom, 
Had  seen  the  water  lilies  bloom, 
Had  seen  the  helmet  and  the  plume, 

And  had  looked  down  to  Cuinelot," 


CHAPTER    VI. 

WHY   SYLVIA   WAS   HAPPY. 

"  I  NEVER  did  understand  you,  Sylvia ;  and  this  last 
month  you  have  been  a  perfect  enigma  to  me." 

With  rocking-chair  in  full  action,  suspended  needle  and 
thoughtful  expression,  Miss  Yule  had  watched  her  sister 
for  ten  minutes  as  she  sat  with  her  work  at  her  feet,  her 
hands  folded  on  her  lap,  and  her  eyes  dreamily  fixed  on 
vacancy. 

"  I*  always  was  to  myself,  Prue,  and  am  more  so  than 
ever  now,"  answered  Sylvia,  waking  out  of  her  reverie  with 
a  smile  that  proved  it  had  been  a  pleasant  one. 

"  There  must  be  some  reason  for  this  great  change  in 
you.  Come,  tell  me,  dear." 

With  a  motherly  gesture  Miss  Yule  drew  the  girl  to  her 
knee,  brushed  back  the  bright  hair,  and  looked  into'the  face 
so  freely  turned  to  hers.  Through  all  the  years  they  had 
been  together,  the  elder  sister  had  never  seen  before  the 
expression  which  the  younger 's  face  now  wore.  A  vague 
expectancy  sat  in  her  eyes,  some  nameless  content  sweetened 
her  smile,  a  beautiful  repose  replaced  the  varying  enthu 
siasm,  listlessness,  and  melancholy  that  used  to  haunt  her 
countenance  and  make  it  such  a  study.  Miss  Yule  could 
not  read  the  secret  of  the  change,  yet  felt  its  novel  charm  ; 
Sylvia  could  not  explain  it,  though  penetrated  by  its  power  ; 


WHY    SYLVIA    WAS    HAPPY .  103 

and  for  a  moment  the  sisters  looked  into  each  other's  faces, 
wondering  why  each  seemed  altered.  Then  Prue,  who  never 
wasted  much  time  in  speculations  of  any  kind,  shook  her 
head,  and  repeated  — 

"  I  don't  understand  it,  but  it  must  be  right,  because 
you  are  so  improved  in  every  way.  Ever  since  that. wild 
trip  up  the  river  you  have  been  growing  quiet,  lovable,  and 
cheerful,  and  I  really  begin  to  hope  that  you  will  become 
like  other  people." 

"  I  only  know  that  I  am  happy,  Prue.  Why  it  is  so  I 
cannot  tell ;  but  now  I  seldom  have  the  old  dissatisfied  and 
restless  feeling.  Everything  looks  pleasant  to  me,  every 
one  seems  kind,  and  life  begins  to  be  both  sweet  and  earnest. 
It  is  only  one  of  my  moods,  I  suppose ;  but  I  am  grateful 
for  it,  and  pray  that  it  may  last." 

So  earnestly  she  spoke,  so  cheerfully  she  smiled,  that 
Miss  Yule  blessed  the  mood  and  echoed  Sylvia's  wish, 
exclaiming  in  the  next  breath,  with  a  sudden  inspiration  — 

"  My,  dear,  I've  got  it!     You  are  growing  up." 

"  I  think  I  am.  You  tried  to  make  a  woman  of  me  at 
sixteen,  but  it  was  impossible  until  the  right  time  came. 
That  wild  trip  up  the  river,  as  you  call  it,  did  more  for  me 
than  I  can  ever  tell,  and  when  I  seemed  most  like  a  child 
I  was  learning  to  be  a  woman." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  go  on  as  you  've  begun,  and  I  shall  be 
more  than  satisfied.  What  merry-making  is  on  foot  to 
night  ?  Mark  and  these  friends  of  his  keep  ycu  in  constant 
motion  with  their  ridhig,  rowing,  and  rambling  excursions, 
and  if  it  did  not  agree  with  you  so  excellently,  I  really 
should  like  a  little  quiet  after  a  month  of  bustle." 

"  They  are  only  coming  up  as  usual,  and  that  reminds 
me  that  I  must  go  and  dress." 


104  MOODS. 

"  There  is  another  new  change,  Sylvia.  You  never  used 
to  care  what  you  wore  or  how  you  looked,  no  matter  how 
much  time  and  trouble  I  expended  on  you  and  your  ward 
robe.  Now  you  do  care,  and  it  does  my  heart  good  to  see 
you  always  charmingly  dressed,  and  looking  your  prettiest," 
said  Miss  Yule,  with  the  satisfaction  of  a  woman  who 
heartily  believed  in  costume  as  well  as  all  the  other  elegan 
ces  and  proprieties  of  fashionable  life. 

"  Am  I  ever  that,  Prue?  "  asked  Sylvia,  pausing  on  the 
threshold  with  a  shy  yet  wistful  glance. 

"  Ever  what,  dear  ?  " 

"Pretty?" 

"  Always  so  to  me ;  and  now  I  think  every  one  finds  you 
very  attractive  because  you  try  to  please,  and  seem  to  suc 
ceed  delightfully." 

Sylvia  had  never  asked  that  question  before,  had  never 
seemed  to  know  or  care,  and  could  not  have  chosen  a  more 
auspicious  moment  for  her  frank  inquiry  than  the  present. 
The  answer  seemed  to  satisfy  her,  and  smiling  at  some 
blithe  anticipation  of  her  own,  she  went  away  to  make  a 
lampless  toilet  in  the  dusk,  which  proved  how  slight -a  hold 
the  feminine  passion  for  making  one's  self  pretty  had  vet 
taken  upon  her. 

The  September  moon  was  up  and  shining  clearly  over 
garden,  lawn,  and  sea,  when  the  sound  of  voices  called  her 
down.  At  the  stair-foot  she  paused  with  a  disappointed 
air,  for  only  one  hat  lay  on  the  hall  table,  and  a  glance 
showed  her  only  one  guest  with  Mark  and  Prue.  She 
strolled  irresolutely  through  the  breezy  hall,  looked  out  at 
either  open  door,  sung  a  little  to  herself,  but  broke  off  in 
the  middle  of  a  line,  and,  as  if  following  a  sudden  impulse, 
went  out  into  the  mellow  moonlight,  forgetful  of  uncovered 


WHY    SYLVIA    WAS    HAPrY.  105 

head  or  dewy  damage  to  the  white  hem  of  her  gown. 
Half  way  down  the  avenue  she  paused  before  a  shady  nook, 
and  looked  in.  The  evergreens  that  enclosed  it  made  the 
seat  doubly  dark  to  eyes  inured  to  the  outer  light,  and  see 
ing  a  familiar  seeming  figure  sitting  with  its  head  upon  its 
hand,  Sylvia  leaned  in,  saying,  with  a  daughterly  caress  — 

"  Why,  what  is  my  romantic  father  doing  here?  " 

The  sense  of  touch  was  quicker  than  that  of  sight,  arid 
with  an  exclamation  of  surprise  she  had  drawn  back  before 
Warwick  replied  — 

"It  is  not  the  old  man,  but  the  young  one,  who  is  ro 
mancing  here." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon!  We  have  been  waiting  for  you  ; 
what  thought  is  so  charming  that  you  forgot  us  all  ?  " 

Sylvia  was  a  little  startled,  else  she  would  scarcely  have 
asked  so  plain  a  question.  But  Warwick  often  asked  much 
blunter  ones,  always  told  the  naked  truth  without  prevari 
cation  or  delay,  and  straightway  answered  — 

"  The  thought  of  the  woman  whom  I  hope  to  make  my 
wife." 

Sylvia  stood  silent  for  a  moment  as  if  intent  on  fasten 
ing  in  her  hair  the  delicate  spray  of  hop-bells  just  gathered 
from  the  vine  that  formed  a  leafy  frame  for  the  graceful 
picture  which  she  made  standing,  with  uplifted  arms,  be 
hind  the  arch.  When  she  spoke  it  was  to  say,  as  she 
moved  on  toward  the  house  — 

"  It  is  too  beautiful  a  night  to  stay  in  doors,  but  Prue  is 
waiting  for  me,  and  Mark  wants  to  plan  with  you  about 
our  ride  to-morrow.  Shall  we  go  together?  " 

She  beckoned,  and  he  came  out  of  the  shadow  showing 
her  an  expression  which  she  had  never  seen  before.  His 
fnce  was  flushed,  his  eye  unquiet,  his  manner  eager  /et 


LUO  MOODS. 

restrained.  She  had  seen  him  intellectually  excited  many 
times;  never  emotionally  till  now.  Something  wayward, 
yet  warm,  in  this  new  mood  attracted  her,  because  so  like 
her  own.  But  with  a  tact  as  native  as  her  sympathy  she- 
showed  no  sign  of  this,  except  in  the  attentive  look  she 
fixed  upon  him  as  the  moonlight  bathed  him  in  its  splen 
dor.  He  met  the  glance,  seemed  to  interpret  it  aright,  but 
did  not  answer  its  unconscious  inquiry ;  for  pausing,  he 
asked  abruptly  — 

"  Should  a  rash  promise  be  considered  binding  when  it 
threatens  to  destroy  one's  peace  ?  " 

Sylvia  pondered  an  instant  before  she  answered  slowly  — 

"  If  the  promise  was  freely  given,  no  sin  committed  in  its 
keeping,  and  no  peace  troubled  but  one's  own,  I  should  say 
yes." 

Still  pausing,  he  looked  down  at  her  with  that  unquiet 
glance  as  she  looked  up  with  her  steady  one,  and  with  the 
same  anxiety  he  asked  — 

"  Would  you  keep  such  a  promise  inviolate,  even  though 
it  might  cost  you  the  sacrifice  of  something  dearer  to  you 
than  your  life  ?  " 

She  thought  again,  and  again  looked  up,  answering  with 
the  sincerity  that  he  had  taught  her  — 

"  It  might  be  unwise,  but  if  the  sacrifice  was  not  one  of 
principle  or  something  that  I  ought  to  love  more  than  life, 
I  think  I  should  keep  the  promise  as  religiously  as  an 
Indian  keeps  a  vow  of  vengeance." 

As  she  spoke,  some  recollection  seemed  to  strike  Warwick 
like  a  sudden  stab.  The  flush  died  out  of  his  face,  the  fire 
from  his  eyes,  and  an  almost  grim  composure  fell  upon  him 
as  he  said  low  to  himself,  with  a  forward  step  as  if  eager 
to  leave  some  pain  behind  him  — 


WHY    SYLVIA    WAS   HAPPY.  107 

"  It  is  better  so  ;  for  his  sake  I  will  leave  all  to  time." 

Sylvia  saw  his  lips  move,  but  caught  no  sound  till  he 
said  with  a  gravity  that  was  almost  gloom  — 

"  I  think  you  would ;  therefore,  beware  how  you  bind 
yourself  with  such  verbal  bonds.  Let  us  go  in." 

They  went ;  Warwick  to.  the  drawing-room,  but  Sylvia 
ran  up  stairs  for  the  Berlin  wools,  which  in  spite  of  heat 
and  the  sure  staining  of  fingers  were  to  be  wound  that 
night  according  to  contract,  for  she  kept  a  small  promise 
as  sacredly  as  she  would  have  done  a  greater  one. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  to  give  yourself  such  an 
uplifted  expression,  Sylvia  ?  "  said  Mark,  as  she  came  in. 

"  Feasting  my  eyes  on  lovely  colors.  Does  not  that  look 
like  a  folded  rainbow?"  she  answered,  laying  her  brilliant 
burden  on  the  table  where  Warwick  sat  examining  a  broken 
reel,  and  Prue  was  absorbed  in  getting  a  carriage  blanket 
under  way. 

"  Come,  Sylvia,  I  shall  soon  be  ready  for  the  first  shade/' 
she  said,  clashing  her  formidable  needles.  "  Is  that  past 
mending,  Mr.  Warwick?" 

"  Yes,  without  better  tools  than  a  knife,  two  pins,  and  a 
bodkin." 

'.'  Then  you  must  put  the  skeins  on  a  chair,  Sylvia.  Try 
not  to  tangle  them,  and  spread  your  handkerchief  in  your 
lap,  for  that  maroon  color  will  stain  sadly.  Now  don't 
speak  to  me,  for  I  nmst  count  my  stitches." 

Sylvia  began  to  wind  the  wools  with  a  swift  dexterity  as 
natural  to  her  hands  as  certain  little  graces  of  gesture 
which  made  their  motions  pleasant  to  watch.  Warwick 
never  rummaged  work-baskets,  gossipped,  or  paid  compli 
ments  for  want  of  something  to  do.  If  no  little  task  appear 
ed  for  them,  he  kept  his  hands  out  of  mischief,  and  if  noth- 


MOODS. 


ing  occurred  to  make  words  agreeable  or  necessary,  he 
proved  that  he  understood  the  art  of  silence,  and  sat  with- 
those  vigilant  eyes  of  his  fixed  upon  whatever  object  attract 
ed  them.  Just  then  the  object  was  a  bright  band  slipping 
round  the  chair-back,  with  a  rapidity  that  soon  produced  a 
snarl,  but  no  help  till  patient  fingers  had  smoothed  and 
wound  it  up.  Then,  with  the  look  of  one  who  says  to  him 
self,  "  I  will  !"  he  turned,  planted  himself  squarely  before 
^Sylvia,  and  held  out  his  hands. 

"  Here  is  a  reel  that  will  neither  tangle  nor  break  your 
skeins,  will  you  use  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  thank  you,  and  in  return  I'll  wind  your  color  first." 

"  Which  is  my  color  ?  " 

"  This  fine  scarlet,  strong,  enduring,  and  martial,  like 
yourself." 

"You  are  right." 

"I  thought  so  ;    Mr.  Moor  prefers  blue,  and  I  violet." 

"Blue  and  red  make  violet,"  called  Mark  from  his  corner, 
catching  the  word  "  color,"  though  busy  with  a  sketch  for  a 
certain  fair  Jessie  Hope. 

Moor  was  with  Mr.  Yule  in  his  study,  Prue  mentally 
wrapped  in  her  blanket,  and  when  Sylvia  was  drawn  into 
an  artistic  controversy  with  her  brother,  Warwick  fell  into 
deep  thought. 

With  the  pride  of  a  proud  man  once  deceived,  he  had 
barred  his  heart  against  womankind,  Vesolving  that  no  sec 
ond  defeat  should  oppress  him  with  that  distrust  of  self  and 
others,  which  is  harder  for  a  generous  nature  to  bear,  than 
the  pain  of  its  own  wound.  He  had  yet  to  learn  that  the 
shadow  of  love  suggests  its  light,  and  that  they  who  have 
been  cheated  of  the  food,  without  which  none  can  truly  live, 
long  for  it  with  redoubled  hunger.  Of  late  he  had  been 


WHY    SYLVIA   WAS    HAPPY.  109 

discovering  this,  for  a  craving,  stronger  than  his  own  strong 
will,  possessed  him.  He  tried  to  disbelieve  and  silence  it ; 
attacked  it  with  reason,  starved  it  with  neglect,  and  chilled  it 
with  contempt.  But  when  he  fancied  it  was  dead,  the  longing 
rose  again,  and  with  a  clamorous  cry,  undid  his  work.  For 
the  first  time,  this  free  spirit  felt  the  master's  hand,  con 
fessed  a  need  its  own  power  could  not  supply,  and  saw  that 
no  man  can  live  alone  on  even  the  highest  aspirations  with 
out  suffering  for  the  vital  warmth  of  the  affections.  A 
month  ago  he  would  have  disdained  the  hope  that  now  was 
so  dear  to  him.  But  imperceptibly  the  influences  of  domes 
tic  life  had  tamed  and  won  him.  Solitude  looked  barren, 
vagrancy  had  lost  its  charm  ;  his  life  seemed  cold  and  bare, 
for,  though  devoted  to  noble  aims,  it  was  wanting  in  the 
social  sacrifices,  cares,  and  joys,  that  foster  charity,  and 
sweeten  character.  An  impetuous  desire  to  enjoy  the  rich 
experience  which  did  so  much  for  others,  came  over  him  to 
night  as  it  had  often  done  while  sharing  the  delights  of  this 
home,  where  he  had  made  so  long  a  pause.  But  with  the 
desire  came  a  memory  that  restrained  him  better  than  his 
promise.  He  saw  what  others  had  not  yet  discovered,  and 
obeying  the  code  of  honor  which  governs  a  true  gentle 
man,  loved  his  friend  better  than  himself  and  held  his 
peace. 

The  last  skein  came,  and  as  she  wound  it,  Sylvia's  glance 
involuntarily  rose  from  the  strong  hands  to  the  face  above 
them,  and  lingered  there,  for  the  penetrating  gaze  was  avert 
ed,  and  an  unwonted  mildness  inspired  confidence  as  its 
usual  expression  of  power  commanded  respect.  His  silence 
troubled  her,  and  with  curious  yet  respectful  scrutiny,  she 
studied  his  face  as  she  had  never  done  before.  She  found 
it  full  of  a  noble  gravity  and  kindliness  •  candor  and  cour- 
10 


110  MOODS. 

age  spoke  in  the  lines  of  the  mouth,  benevolence  and  intel 
lect  in  the  broad  arch  of  the  forehead,  ardor  and  energy  in 
the  fire  of  the  eye',  and  on  every  lineament  the  stamp  of  that 
genuine  manhood,  which- no  art  can  counterfeit.  Intent 
upon  discovering  the  secret  of  the  mastery  he  exerted  over 
all  who  approached  him,  Sylvia  had  quite  forgotten  herself, 
when  suddenly  Warwick's  eyes  were  fixed  full  upon  her  own. 
What  spell  lay  in  them  she  could  not  tell,  for  human  eye 
had  never  shed  such  sudden  summer  over  her.  Admiration 
was  not  in  it,  for  it  did  not  agitate ;  nor  audacity,  for  it  did 
not  abash ;  but  something  that  thrilled  warm  through  blood 
and  nerves,  that  filled  her  with  a  glad  submission  to  some 
power,  absolute  yet  tender,  and  caused  her  to  turn  her  in 
nocent  face  freely  to  his  gaze,  letting  him  read  therein  a 
sentiment  for  which  she  had  not  yet  found  a  name. 

It  lasted  but  a  moment ;  yet  in  that  moment,  each  saw 
the  other's  heart,  and  each  turned  a  new  page  in  the  ro 
mance  of  their  lives.  Sylvia's  eyes  fell  first,  but  no  blush 
followed,  no  sign  of  anger  or  perplexity,  only  a  thoughtfu; 
silence,  which  continued  till  the  last  violet  thread  dropped 
from  his  hands,  and  she  said  almost  regretfully  — 

"  This  is  the  end." 

"  Yes,  this  is  the  end." 

As  he  echoed  the  words  Warwick  rose  suddenly  and  went 
to  talk  with  Mark,  whose  sketch  was  done.  Sylvia  sat  a 
moment  as  if  quite  forgetful  where  she  was,  so  absorbing 
was  some  thought  or  emotion.  Presently  she  seemed  to 
glow  and  kindle  with  an  inward  fire ;  over  face  and  forehead 
rushed  an  impetuous  color,  her  eyes  shone,  and  her  lips 
trembled  with  the  fluttering  of  her  breath.  Then  a  panic 
appeared  to  seize  her,  for,  stealing  noiselessly  away,  she 
hurried  to  her  room,  and  covering  up  her  face  as  if  to  hide 


WHY    SYLVIA    WAS    HAPPT .  Ill 

it  even  from  herself,  whispered  to  that  full  heart  of  hers, 
with  qnick  coming  tears  that  belied  the  words  — 

"  Now  I  know  why  I  am  happy!  " 

How  long  she  lay  there  weeping  and  smiling  in  the  moon 
light  she  never  knew.  Her  sister's  call  broke  in  upon  the 
first  love  dream  she  had  ever  woven  for  herself,  and  she 
went  down  to  bid  the  friends  good  night.  The  hall  was 
only  lighted  by  the  moon,  and  in  the  dimness  of  the  shadow 
where  she  stood,  no  one  saw  traces  of  that  midsummer 
shower  on  her  cheeks,  or  detected  the  soft  trouble  in  her 
eye,  but  for  the  first  time  Moor  felt  her  hand  tremble  in 
his  own  and  welcomed  the  propitious  omen. 

Being  an  old-fashioned  gentleman,  Mr.  Yule  preserved  in 
his  family  the  pleasant  custom  of  hand- shaking,  which 
gives  such  heartiness  to  the  morning  and  evening  greetings 
of  a  household.  Moor  liked  and  adopted  it;  Warwick 
had  never  done  so,  but  that  night  he  gave  a  hand  to  Prue 
and  Mark  with  his  most  cordial  expression,  and  Sylvia  felt 
both  her  own  taken  in  a  warm  lingering  grasp,  although  he 
only  said  "good  by!"  Then  they  went;  but  while  the 
three  paused  at  the  door  held  by  the  beauty  of  the  night, 
back  to  them  on  the  wings  of  the  wind  came  Warwick's 
voice  singing  the  song  that  Sylvia  loved.  All  down  the 
avenue,  and  far  along  the  winding  road  they  traced  his  pro 
gress,  till  the  strain  died  in  the  distance  leaving  only  the 
echo  of  the  song  to  link  them  to  the  singer. 

When  evening  came  again  Sylvia  waited  on  the  lawn 
to  have  the  meeting  over  in  the  dark,  for  love  made  her 
very  shy.  But  Moor  came  alone,  and  his  first  words  were, 

"  Comfort  me,  Sylvia,  Adam  is  gone.  He  went  as  un 
expectedly  as  he  came,  and  when  I  woke  this  morning  a 
note  lay  at  my  door,  but  my  friend  was  not  there  " 


1  1  2  MOODS. 

She  murmured  some  stereotyped  regret,  but  there  was  a 
sharp  pain  at  her  heart  till  there  came  to  her  the  remem 
brance  of  Warwick's  question,  uttered  on  the  spot  where  she 
was  standing.  Some  solace  she  must  have,  and  clinging  to 
this  one  thought  hopefully  within  herself  — 

"  He  has  made  some  promise,  has  gone  to  get  released; 
from  it,  and  will  come  back  to  say  what  he  looked  last 
night.  He  is  so  true  I  will  believe  in  him  and  wait." 

She  did  wait,  but  week  after  week  went  by  and  Warwick 
did  not  come. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

DULL   BUT  NECESSARY. 

WHOEVER  cares  only  for  incident  and  action  in  a  book 
had  better  skip  this  chapter  and  read  on ;  but  those  who 
take  an  interest  in  the  delineation  of  character  will  find  the 
key  to  Sylvia's  here. 

John  Yule  might  have  been  a  poet,  painter,  or  philanthro 
pist,  for  Heaven  had  endowed  him  with  fine  gifts ;  he  was  a 
prosperous  merchant  with  no  ambition  but  to  leave  a  fortune 
to  his  children  and  live  down  the  memory  of  a  bitter  past. 
On  the  threshold  of  his  life  he  stumbled  and  fell ;  for  as 
he  paused  there,  waiting  for  the  first  step  to  appear,  Provi 
dence  tested  and  found  him  wanting.  On  one  side,  Poverty 
offered  the  aspiring  youth  her  meagre  hand  ;  but  he  was  not 
wise  enough  to  see  the  virtues  hidden  under  her  hard 
aspect,  nor  brave  enough  to  learn  the  stern  yet  salutary 
lessons  which  labor,  necessity,  and  patience  teach,  giving  to 
those  who  serve  and  suffer  the  true  success.  On  the  other 
hand  Opulence  allured  him  with  her  many  baits,  and,  silenc 
ing  the  voice  of  conscience,  he  yielded  to  temptation  and 
wrecked  his  nobler  self. 

A  loveless  marriage  was  the  price  he  paid  for  his  ambi 
tion  ;  not  a  costly  one,  he  thought,  till  time  taught  him  that 
whosoever  mars  the  integrity  of  his  own  soul  by  transgress 
ing  the  great  laws  of  life,  even  by  so  much  as  a  hair's 


114  MOODS. 

breadth,  entails  upon  himself  and  heirs  the  inevitable 
retribution  which  proves  their  worth  and  keeps  them  sacred. 
The  tie  that  bound  and  burdened  the  unhappy  twain,  worn 
thin  by  constant  friction,  snapped  at  last,  and  in  the  solemn 
pause  death  made  in  his  busy  life,  there  rose  before  him 
those  two  gh  osts  who  sooner  or  later  haunt  us  all,  saying 
with  reproachful  voices,  —  "  This  I  might  have  been,"  and 
"  This  I  am."  Then  he  saw  the  failure  of  his  life.  At 
fifty  he  fgund  himself  poorer  than  when  he  made  his  mo 
mentous  choice  ;  for  the  years  that  had  given  him  wealth, 
position,  children,  had  also  taken  from  him  youth,  self- 
respect,  and  many  a  gift  whose  worth  was  magnified  by  loss. 
He  endeavored  to  repair  the  fault  so  tardily  acknowledged, 
but  found  it  impossible  to  cancel  it  when  remorse,  embittered 
effort,  and  age  left  him  powerless  to  redeem  the  rich  inheri 
tance  squandered  in  his  prime. 

If  ever  man  received  punishment  for  a  self-inflicted 
wrong  it  was  John  Yule.  A  punishment  as  subtle  as  the 
sin ;  for  in  the  children  growing  up  about  him  every  relin 
quished  hope,  neglected  gift,  lost  aspiration,  seemed  to  live 
again ;  yet  on  each  and  all  was  set  the  direful  stamp  of 
imperfection,  which  made  them  visible  illustrations  of  the 
great  law  broken  in  his  youth. 

In  Prudence,  as  she  grew  to  womanhood,  he  saw  his  own 
practical  tact  and  talent,  nothing  more.  She  seemed  the 
living  representative  of  the  years  spent  in  strife  for  profit, 
power,  and  place ;  the  petty  cares  that  fret  the  soul,  the 
mercenary  schemes  that  waste  a  life,  the  worldly  formalities, 
frivolities,  and  fears,  that  so  belittle  character.  All  these 
he  saw  in  this  daughter's  shape ;  and  with  pathetic  patience 
bore  the  daily  trial  of  an  over  active,  over  anxious,  affec 
tionate  but  most  prosaic  child. 


DULL    BUT    NECESSARY.  115 

In  Mark  he  saw  his  ardor  foi  the  beautiful,  his  love  of 
the  poetic,  his  reverence  for  genius,  virtue,  heroism.  But 
here  too  the  subtle  blight  had  fallen.  This  son,  though 
strong  in  purpose  was  feeble  in  performance ;  for  some 
hidden  spring  of  power  was  wanting,  and  the  shadow  of 
that  earlier  defeat  chilled  in  his  nature  the  energy  which  is 
the  first  attribute  of  all  success.  Mark  loved  poetry,  and 
"  wrote  in  numbers  for  the  numbers  came  ;  "  but,  whether 
tragic,  tender,  or  devout,  in  each  attempt  there  was  enough 
of  the  divine  fire  to  warm  them  into  life,  yet  not  enough  to 
gift  them  with  the  fervor  that  can  make  a  line  immortal, 
and  every  song  was  a  sweet  lament  for  the  loftier  lays  that 
might  have  been.  He  loved  art  and  gave  himself  to  it ; 
but  though  studying  all  forms  of  beauty  he  never  reached 
its  soul,  and  every  effort  tantalized  him  with  fresh  glimpses 
of  the  fair  ideal  which  he  could  not  reach.  He  loved  the 
true,  but  high  thoughts  seldom  blossomed  into  noble  deeds ; 
for  when  the  hour  came  the  man  was  never  ready,  and  dis 
appointment  was  his  daily  portion.  A  sad  fate  for  the  son, 
a  far  sadder  one  for  the  father  who  had  bequeathed  it  to 
him  from  the  irrecoverable  past. 

In  Sylvia  he  saw,  mysteriously  blended,  the  two  natures 
that  had  given  her  life,  although  she  was  born  when  the 
gulf  between  regretful  husband  and  sad  wife  was  widest. 
As  if  indignant  Nature  rebelled  against  the  outrage  done 
her  holiest  ties,  adverse  temperaments  giftecl  the  child  with 
the  good  and  ill  of  each.  From  her  father  she  received 
pride,  intellect,  and  will ;  from  her  mother  passion,  imagi 
nation,  and  the  fateful  melancholy  of  a  woman  defrauded 
of  her  dearest  hope.  These  conflicting  temperaments,  with 
all  their  aspirations,  attributes,  and  inconsistencies,  were 
woven  into  a  nature  fair  and  faulty  ;  ambitious,  yet  not 


116  MOODS. 

self-reliant;  sensitive,  yet  not  keen-sighted.  These  two 
masters  ruled  soul  and  body,  warring  against  each  other, 
making  Sylvia  an  enigma  to  herself  and  her  life  a  train  of 
moods. 

A  wise  and  tender  mother  would  have  divined  her  name 
less  needs,  answered  her  vague  desires,  and  through  the 
medium  of  the  most  omnipotent  affection  given  to  humanity, 
have  made  her  what  she  might  have  been.  But  Sylvia  had 
never  known  mother-love,  for  her  life  came  through  death  ; 
and  the  only  legacy  bequeathed  her  was  a  slight  hold  upon 
existence,  a  ceaseless  craving  for  affection,  and  the  shadow 
of  a  tragedy  that  wrung  from  the  pale  lips,  that  grew  cold 
against  her  baby  cheek,  the  cry,  "  Free  at  last,  thank  God 
for  that ! " 

Prudence  could  not  fill  the  empty  place,  though  the 
good-hearted  housewife  did  her  best.  Neither  sister  under 
stood  the  other,  and  each  tormented  the  other  through  her 
very  love.  Prue  unconsciously  exasperated  Sylvia,  Sylvia 
unconsciously  shocked  Prue,  and  they  hitched  along  together 
each  trying  to  do  well  and  each  taking  diametrically  oppo 
site  measures  to  effect  her  purpose.  Mark  briefly  but 
truly  described  them  when  he  said,  "  Sylvia  trims  the 
house  with  flowers,  but  Prudence  dogs  her  with  a  dust 
pan." 

Mr.  Yule  was  now  a  studious,  melancholy  man,  who, 
having  said  one  fatal  "  No  "  to  himself,  made  it  the  satis 
faction  of  his  life  to  say  a  never  varying  "Yes"  to  his 
children.  But  though  he  left  no  wish  of  theirs  ungratified, 
he  seemed  to  have  forfeited  his  power  to  draw  and  hold 
them  to  himself.  He  was  more  like  an  unobtrusive  guest 
than  a  master  in  his  house.  His  children  loved,  but  never 
to  him,  because  unseen,  yet  impassible,  rose  the  bar- 


DULL   BUT •  Ni7,CESSAUY.  117 

rier  of  an  instinctive. protest  against  the  wrong  done  theii 
dead  mother,  unconscious  on  their  part  but  terribly  signifi 
cant  to  him. 

Mark  had  been  years  away ;  and  though  the  brother  and 
sister  were  tenderly  attached,  sex,  tastes,  and  pursuits  kept 
them  too  far  apart,  and  Sylvia  was  solitary  even  in  this 
social  seeming  home.  Dissatisfied  with  herself,  she  endea 
vored  to  make  her  life  what  it  should  be  with  the  energy 
of  an  ardent,  aspiring  nature ;  and  through  all  experiences, 
sweet  or  bitter,  all  varying  moods,  successes  and  defeats,  a 
sincere  desire  for  happiness  the  best  and  highest,  was 
the  little  rushlight  of  her  soul  that  never  wavered  or  went 
out 

She  never  had  known  friendship  in  its  truest  sense,  for 
next  to  love  it  is  the  most  abused  of  words.  She  had 
called  many  "  friend,"  but  was  still  ignorant  of  that  senti 
ment,  cooler  than  passion,  warmer  than  respect,  more  just 
*and  generous  than  either,  which  recognizes  a  kindred  spirit 
in  another,  and  claiming  •  its  right,  keeps  it  sacred  by  the 
wise  reserve  that  is  to  friendship  what  the  purple  bloom  is 
to  the  grape,  a  charm  which  once  destroyed  can  never  be 
restored.  Love  she  had  desired,  yet  dreaded,  knowing  her 
own  passionate  nature,  and  when  it  came  to  her,  making 
that  brief  holiday  the  fateful  point  of  her  life,  she  gave 
herself  to  it  wholly.  Before  that  time  she  had  rejoiced 
over  a  more  tranquil  pleasure,  and  believed  that  she  had 
found  her  friend  in  the  neighbor  who  after  long  absence 
had  returned  to  his  old  place. 

Nature  had  done  much  for  Geoffrey  Moor,  but  the  wise 
mother  also  gave  him  those  teachers  to  whose  hard  lessons 
she  often  leaves  her  dearest  children.  Five  years  spent  in 
the  service  of  a  sister,  who,  through  the  sharp  discipline  of 


118  MOODS. 

pain  was  fitting  her  meek  soul  for  heaven,  had  given  him  an 
experience  such  as  few  young  men  receive.  This  fraternal 
devotion  proved  a  blessing  in  disguise ;  it  preserved  him 
from  any  profanation  of  his  youth,  and  the  companionship 
of  the  helpless  creature  whom  he  loved  had  proved  an 
ever  present  stimulant  to  all  that  was  best  and  sweetest  in 
the  man.  A  single  duty  faithfully  performed  had  set  the 
seal  of  integrity  upon  his  character,  and  given  him  grace  to 
see  at  thirty  the  rich  compensation  he  had  received  for  the 
ambitions  silently  sacrificed  at  twenty- five.  When  his 
long  vigil  was  over  he  looked  into  the  world  to  find  his  place 
again.  But  the  old  desires  were  dead,  the  old  allurements 
had  lost  their  charm,  and  while  he  waited  for  time  to  show 
him  what  good  work  he  should  espouse,  no  longing  was  so 
strong  as  that  for  a  home,  where  he  might  bless  and  be 
blessed  in  writing  that  immortal  poem  a  virtuous  and 
happy  life. 

Sylvia  soon  felt  the  power  and  beauty  of  this  nature, 
and  remembering  how  well  he  had  ministered  to  a  physical 
affliction,  often  looked  into  the  face  whose  serenity  was  a 
perpetual  rebuke,  longing  to  ask  him  to  help  and  heal  the 
mental  ills  that  perplexed  and  burdened  her.  Moor  soon 
divined  the  real  isolation  of  the  girl,  read  the  language  of 
her  wistful  eyes,  felt  that  he  could  serve  her,  and  invited 
confidence  by  the  cordial  alacrity  with  which  he  met  her 
least  advance. 

But  while  he  served  he  learned  to  love  her,  for  Sylvia, 
humble  in  her  own  conceit,  and  guarded  by  the  secret  pas 
sion  that  possessed  her,  freely  showed  the  regard  she  felt, 
with  no  thought  of  misapprehension,  no  fear  of  conse 
quences.  Unconscious  that  such  impulsive  demonstration 
made  her  only  more  attractive,  that  every  manifestation  of 


DULL   BUT   NECESSARY.  119 

her  fiank  esteem  was  cherished  in  her  friend's  heart  of 
hearts,  and  that  through  her  he  was  enjoying  the  blossom 
time  of  life.  So  peacefully  and  pleasantly  the  summer 
ripened  into  autumn  and  Sylvia's  interest  into  an  enduring 
friendship. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

NO. 

DRAWN  curtains  shut  out  the  frosty  night,  the  first  fire 
of  the  season  burned  upon  the  hearth,  and  basking  in  its 
glow  sat  Sylvia,  letting  her  thoughts  wander  where  they 
would.  As  books  most  freely  open  at  pages  oftenest  read, 
the  romance  of  her  summer  life  seldom  failed  to  unclose  at 
passages  where  Warwick's  name  appeared.  Pleasant  as 
were  many  hours  of  that  time,  none  seemed  so  full  of 
beauty  as  those  passed  with  him,  and  sweetest  of  them  all 
the  twilight  journey  hand  in  hand.  It  now  returned  to 
her  so  freshly  that  she  seemed  to  hear  again  the  evening 
sounds,  to  feel  the  warm,  fern-scented  wind  blow  over  her, 
to  see  the  strong  hand  offered  helpfully,  and  with  an  im 
pulse  past  control  she  stretched  her  own  to  that  visionary 
Warwick  as  the  longing  of  her  heart  found  vent  in  an 
eager 

"  Come  ! " 

"  I  am  here." 

A  voice  replied,  a  hand  pressed  hers,  and  springing  up 
she  saw,  not  Adam,  but  Moor,  standing  beside  her  with  a 
beaming  face.  Concealing  the  thrill  of  joy,  the  pang  of 
pain  he  had  brought  her,  she  greeted  him  cordially,  and 
reseating  herself,  instinctively  tried  to  turn  the  current  of 
her  thoughts. 


NO.  121 

"  I  am  glad  you  came,  for  I  have  built  castles  in  the  air 
long  enough,  and  you  will  give  me  more  substantial  enter 
tainment,  as  you  always  do."  • 

The  broken  dream  had  left  tokens  of  its  presence  in  the 
unwonted  warmth  of  Sylvia's  manner;  Moor  felt  it,  and 
for  a  moment  did  not  answer.  Much  of  her  former  shyness 
had  crept  over  her  of  late ;  she  sometimes  shunned  him, 
was  less  free  in  conversation,  less  frank  in  demonstration, 
and  once  or  twice  had  colored  deeply  as  she  caught  his  eye 
upon  her.  These  betrayals  of  Warwick's  image  in  her 
thoughts  seemed  to  Moor  the  happy  omens  he  had  waited 
eagerly  to  see,  and  each  day  his  hope  grew  more  assured. 
He  had  watched  her  unseen  while  she  was  busied  with  her 
mental  pastime,  and  as  he  looked  his  heart  had  grown  un 
speakably  tender,  for  never  had  her  power  over  him  been 
so  fully  felt,  and  never  had  he  so  longed  to  claim  her  in 
the  name  of  his  exceeding  love.  A  pleasant  peace  reigned 
through  the  house,  the  girl  sat  waiting  at  his  side,  the  mo 
ment  looked  auspicious,  the  desire  grew  irresistible,  and  he 
yielded  to  it. 

"  You  are  thinking  of  something  new  and  pleasant  to  tell 
me,  I  hope,  —  something  in  keeping  with  this  quiet  place 
and  hour,"  said  Sylvia,  glancing  up  at  him  with  the  trait 
orous  softness  still  in  her  eyes. 

"Yes,  and  hoping  you  would  like  it." 

"  Then  I  have  never  heard  it  before  ?  " 

"  Never  from  me." 

"  Go  on,  please;  I  am  ready." 

She  folded  her  hands  together  on  her  knee,  turned  her 

face  attentively  to  his,  and  unwittingly  composed  herself  to 

listen  to  the  sweet  story  so  often  told,  and  yet  so  hard  to 

telL     Moor  meant  to  woo  her  very  gently,  for  he  believed 

11 


122  MOODS. 

that  love  was  new  to  her.  He  had  planned  many  graceful 
illustrations  for  his  tale,  and  rounded  many  smoothly-flow 
ing  sentences  in  which  to  unfold  it.  But  the  emotions  are 
not  well  bred,  and  when  the  moment  came  nature  con 
quered  art.  No  demonstration  seemed  beautiful  enough  to 
grace  the  betrayal  of  his  passion,  no  language  eloquent 
enough  to  tell  it,  no  power  strong  enough  to  hold  in  check 
the  impulse  that  mastered  him.  He  went  to  her,  knelt 
down  upon  the  cushion  at  her  feet,  and  lifting  to  her  a  face 
flushed  and  fervent  with  the  ardor  of  a  man's  first  love, 
said  impetuously  — 

"  Sylvia,  read  it  here  !  " 

There  was  no  need  for  her  to  look ;  act,  touch,  and  tone 
told  the  story  better  than  the  most  impassioned  speech. 
The  supplication  of  his  attitude,  the  eager  beating  of  his 
heart,  the  tender  pressure  of  his  hand,  dispelled  her  blind 
ness  in  the  drawing  of  a  breath^  and  showed  her  what  she 
had  done.  Now  neglected  warnings,  selfish  forgetfulness, 
and  the  knowledge  of  an  unconscious  but  irremediable 
wrong  frightened  and  bewildered  her;  she  hid  her  face 
and  shrunk  back  trembling  with  remorse  and  shame. 
Moor,  seeing  in  her  agitation  only  maiden  happiness  or 
hesitancy,  accepted  and  enjoyed  a  blissful  moment  while 
he  waited  her  reply.  It  was  so  long  in  coming  that  he 
gently  tried  to  draw  her  hands  away  and  look  into  her 
face,  whispering  like  one  scarcely  doubtful  of  assent  — 

"  You  love  me,  Sylvia  ?  " 

"  No." 

Only  half  audible  was  the  reluctant  answer,  yet  he 
heard  it,  smiled  at  what  he  fancied  a  shy  falsehood,  and 
eaid  tenderly  — 

"  Will  you  let  me  love  you,  dear  ?  " 


NO.  123 

"  No." 

Fainter  than  before  was  the  one  word,  but  it  reached  and 
startled  him.  Hurriedly  he  asked  — 

"  Am  I  nothing  to  you  but  a  friend  ?  " 

"No." 

With  a  quick  gesture  he  put  down  her  hands  and  looked 
at  her.  Grief,  regret,  and  pity,  filled  her  face  with  trouble, 
but  no  love  was  there.  He  saw,  yet  would  not  believe  the 
truth,  felt  that  the  sweet  certainty  of  love  had  gone,  yet 
could  not  relinquish  the  fond  hope. 

" Sylvia,  do  you  understand  me?  " 

"I  do,  I  do !  but  I  cannot  say  what  you  would  have  me, 
and  I  must  tell  the  truth,  although  it  breaks  my  heart. 
Geoffrey,  I  do  not  love  you." 

"  Can  I  not  teach  you  ? "  he  pleaded  eagerly. 

"  I  have  no  desire  to  learn." 

Softly  she  spoke,  remorseful  she  looked,  but  the  words 
wounded  like  a  blow  All  the  glad  assurance  died,  the 
passionate  glow  faded,  the  caress,  half  tender,  half  timid, 
fell  away,  and  nothing  of  the  happy  lover  remained  in  face 
or  figure.  He  rose  slowly  as  if  the  heavy  disappointment 
oppressed  both  soul  and  body.  He  fixed  on  her  a  glance  of 
mingled  incredulity,  reproach,  and  pain,  and  said,  like  one 
bent  on  ending  suspense  at  once  — 

*'  Did  you  not  see  that  I  loved  you?  Can  you  have  been 
trifling  with  me?  Sylvia,  I  thought  you  too  simple  and 
sincere  for  heartless  coquetry." 

"  I  am !  You  shall  not  suspect  me  of  that,  though  I  de 
serve  all  other  reproaches.  I  have  been  very  selfish,  very 
blind.  I  should  have  remembered  that  in  your  great  kind 
ness  you  might  like  me  too  well  for  your  own  peace.  I 
should  have  believed  Mark,  and  been  less  candid  in  my 


124  MOODS. 

expressions  of  esteem.  But  I  wanted  j,  friend  JO  much  ;  \ 
found  all  E  could  ask  in  you ;  I  thought  my  youth,  mj 
faults,  my  follies,  would  make  it  impossible  for  you  to  see 
in  me  anything  but  a  wayward  girl,  who  frankly  showed 
her  regard,  and  was  proud  of  yours.  It  was  one  of  my  sad 
mistakes ;  I  see  it  now  ;  and  now  it  is  too  late  for  anything 
but  penitence.  Forgive  me«if  you  can  ;  I've  taken  all  the 
pleasure,  and  left  you  all  the  pain." 

Sylvia  spoke  in  a  paroxysm  of  remorseful  sorrow.  Moor 
listened  with  a  sinking  heart,  and  when  she  dropped  her 
face  into  her  hands  again,  unable  to  endure  the  pale  expec 
tancy  of  his,  he  turned  away,  saying  with  an  accent  of 
quiet  despair  — 

"  Then  I  have  worked  and  waited  all  this  summer  to  see 
my  harvest  fail  at  last.  Oh,  Sylvia,  I  so  loved,  so  trusted 
you." 

He  leaned  his  arm  on  the  low  chimney  piece,  laid  down 
his  head  upon  it  and  stood  silent,  trying  to  forgive. 

It  is  always  a  hard  moment  for  any  woman,  when  it  de 
mands  her  bravest  sincerity  to  look  into  a  countenance  of 
eager  love,  and  change  it  to  one  of  bitter  disappointment  by 
the  utterance  of  a  monosyllable.  To  Sylvia  it  was  doubly 
hard,  for  now  her  blindness  seemed  as  incredible  as  cruel ; 
her  past  frankness  unjustifiable  ;  her  pleasure  selfish ;  her 
refusal  the  blackest  ingratitude,  and  her  dream  of  friend 
ship  forever  marred.  In  the  brief  pause  that  fell,  every 
little  service  he  had  rendered  her,  rose  freshly  in  her  mem 
ory  ;  every  hour  of  real  content  and  genuine  worth  that  he 
had  given  her,  seemed  to  come  back  and  reproach  her  ; 
every  look,  accent,  action,  of  both  happy  past  and  sad  pres 
ent  seemed  to  plead  for  him.  Her  conscience  cried  out 
against  her,  her  heart  overflowed  with  penitence  and  pity. 


NO.  125 

» 

She  looked  at  him,  longing  to  say  something,  do  something 
that  should  prove  her  repentance,  and  assure  him  of  the  af 
fection  which  she  felt.  As  she  looked,  two  great  tears  fell 
glittering  to  the  hearth,  and  lay  there  such  eloquent  re 
proaches,  that,  had  Sylvia's  heart  been  hard  and  cold  as 
the  marble  where  they  shone,  it  would  have  melted  then. 
She  could  not  bear  it,  she  went  to  him,  took  in  both  her 
own  the  rejected  hand  that  hung  at  his  side,  and  feeling 
that  no  act  could  too  tenderly  express  her  sorrow,  lifted  it 
to  her  lips  and  softly  kissed  it. 

An  instant  she  was  permitted  to  lay  her  cheek  against  it 
as  a  penitent  child  mutely  imploring  pardon  might  have 
done.  Then  it  broke  from  her  hold,  and  gathering  her  to 
himself,  Moor  looked  up  exclaiming  with  renewed  hope,  un 
altered  longing  — 

"  You  do  care  for  me,  then  ?  You  give  yourself  to  me  in 
spite  of  that  hard  No  ?  Ah,  Sylvia,  you  are  capricious 
even  in  your  love." 

She  could  not  answer,  for  if  that  first  No  had  been  hard 
to  utter,  this  was  impossible.  It  seemed  like  turning  the 
knife  in  the  wound,  to  disappoint  the  hope  that  had  gather 
ed  strength  from  despair,  and  she  could  only  lay  her  head 
down  on  his  breast,  weeping  the  saddest  tears  she  had  ever 
shed.  Still  happy  in  his  new  delusion,  Moor  softly  stroked 
the  shining  hair,  smiling  so  tenderly,  so  delightedly,  that 
it  was  well  for  her  she  did  not  see  the  smile,  the  words  were 
enough. 

"  Dear  Sylvia,  I  have  tried  so  hard  to  make  you  love  me 
how  could  you  help  it?  " 

The  reason  sprung  to  her  lips,  but  maiden  pride  and 
shame  withheld  it.  What  could  she  tell  except  that  she 
had  cherished  a  passion,  based  only  on  a  look.  She  hiri 


126  MOODS. 

deceived  herself  in  her  "belief  that  Moor  was  but  a  friendt 
might  she  not  also  have  deceived  herself  in  believing  War 
wick  was  a  lover?  She  coTild  not  own  this  secret,  its  be 
trayal  could  not  alter  her  reply,  nor  heal  Moor's  wound, 
but  the  thought  of  Warwick  strengthened  her.  It  always 
did,  as  surely  as  the  influence  of  his  friend  always  soothed 
her,  for  one  was  an  embodiment  of  power,  the  other  of  ten 
derness. 

"  Geoffrey,  let  me  be  true  to  you  and  to  myself,"  she 
said,  so  earnestly  that  it  gave  weight  to  her  broken  words. 
"  I  cannot  be  your  wife,  but  I  can  be  your  dear  friend  for 
ever.  Try  to  believe  this,  —  make  my  task  easier  by  giving 
up  your  hope,  —  and  oh,  be  sure  that  while  I  live  I  cannot 
do  enough  to  show  my  sorrow  for  the  great  wrong  I  have 
done  you." 

"  Must  it  be  so  9  I  find  it  very  hard  to  accept  the  truth 
and  give  up  the  hope  that  has  made  my  happiness  so  long. 
Let  me  keep  it,  Sylvia ;  let  me  wait  and  work  again.  I 
have  a  firm  belief  that  you  will  love  me  yet,  because  I 
cleave  to  you  with  heart  and  soul,  long  for  you  continually, 
and  think  you  the  one  woman  of  the  world." 

"  Ah,  if  it  were  only  possible  !  "  she  sighed. 

"  Let  me  make  it  so  !  In  truth,  I  think  I  should  not 
labor  long.  You  are  so  young,  dear,  you  have  not  learned 
to  know  your  own  heart  yet.  It  was  not  pity  nor  penitence 
alone  that  brought  you  here  to  comfort  me.  Was  it, 
Sylvia  ?  " 

•"  Yes.  Had  it  been  love,  could  I  stand  as  I  am  now  and 
not  show  it?  " 

She  looked  up  at  him,  showed  him  that  though  her  cheeks 
were  wet  there  was  no  rosy  dawn  of  passion  there ;  though 
her  eyes  were  as  full  of  affection  as  of  griof,  there  was  no 


NO.  127 

ehy  avoidance  of  his  own,  no  dropping  of  the  lids,  lest  they 
should  tell  too  much ;  and  though  his  arm  encircled  her, 
she  did  not  cling  to  him  as  loving  women  cling  when  they 
lean  on  the  strength  which,  touched  by  love,  can  both 
cherish  and  sustain.  That  look  convinced  him  better  than 
a  flood  of  words.  A  long  sigh  broke  from  his  lips,  and, 
turning  from  her  the  eyes  that  had  so' wistfully  searched 
and  found  not,  they  went  wandering  drearily  hither  and 
thither  as  if  seeking  the  hope  whose  loss  made  life  seem 
desolate.  Sylvia  saw  it,  groaned  within  herself,  but  still 
held  fast  to  the  hard  truth,  and  tried  to  make  it  kinder. 

"  Geoffrey,  I  once  heard  you  say  to  Mark,  '  Friendship 
is  the  best  college  character  can  graduate  from.  Believe  in 
it,  seek  for  it,  and  when  it  comes  keep  it  as  sacredly  as 
love.'  All  my  life  I  have  wanted  a  friend,  have  looked  for 
one,  and  when  he  came  I  welcomed  him.  May  I  not  keep 
him,  and  preserve  the  friendship  dear  and  sacred  still,  al 
though  I  cannot  offer  love?  " 

Softly,  seriously,  she  spoke,  but  the  words  sounded  cold 
to  him;  friendship  seemed  so  poor  now,  love  so  rich,  he 
could  not  leave  the  blessed  sunshine  which  transfigured  the 
whole  earth  and  sit  down  in  the  little  circle  of  a  kindly 
fire  without  keen  regret 

"  I  should  say  yes,  I  will  try  to  do  it  if  nothing  easier 
remains  to  me.  Sylvia,  for  five  years  I  have  longed  and 
waited  for  a  home.  Duty  forbade  it  then,  because  poor 
Marion  had  only  me  to  make  ber  sad  life  happy,  and  my 
mother  left  her  to  my  charge.  Now  the  duty  is  ended,  the 
old  house  very  empty,  my  heart  very  hungry  for  affection. 
You  are  all  in  all  to  me,  and  I  find  it  so  difficult  to  relin 
quish  my  dream  that  I  must  be  importunate.  I  have 
spoken  too  soon,  you  have  had'  no  time  to  think,  to  look  in- 


MOODS. 


to  yourself  and  question  your  own  heart.  Go,  now,  recall 
what  I  have  said,  remember  that  I  will  wait  for  you 
patiently,  and  when  I  leave,  an  hour  hence,  come  down  and 
give  me  my  last  answer." 

Sylvia  was  about  to  speak,  but  the  sound  of  an  approaching 
step  brought  over  her  the  shyness  she  had  not  felt  before, 
and  without  a  word  she  darted  from  the  room.  Then  ro 
mance  also  fled,  for  Prue  came  bustling  in,  and  Moor  was 
called  to  talk  of  influenzas,  while  his  thoughts  were  full  of 
love. 

Alone  in  her  chamber  Sylvia  searched  herself.  She  pic 
tured  the  life  that  would  be  hers  with  Moor.  The  old 
house  so  full  of  something  better  than  its  opulence,  an 
atmosphere  of  genial  tranquillity  which  made  it  home-like 
to  whoever  crossed  its  threshold.  Herself  the  daily  com 
panion  and  dear  wife  of  the  master  who  diffused  such 
sunshine  there  ;  whose  serenity  soothed  her  restlessness  ; 
whose  affection  would  be  as  enduring  as  his  patience  ;  whose 
character  she  so  truly  honored.  She  felt  that  no  woman 
need  ask  a  happier  home,  a  truer  or  more  tender  lover. 
But  when  she  looked  into  herself  she  found  the  cordial,  un- 
impassioned  sentiment  he  first  inspired  still  unchanged,  and 
her  heart  answered  — 

"  This  is  friendship." 

She  thought  of  Warwick,  and  the  other  home  that  might 
be  hers.  Fancy  painted  in  glowing  colors  the  stirring  life, 
the  novelty,  excitement,  and  ever  new  delight  such  wander 
ings.  would  have  for  her.  The  joy  of  being  always  with 
him  ;  the  proud  consciousness  that  she  was  nearest  and 
dearest  to  such  a  man  ;  tb^  certainty  that  she  might  share 
the  knowledge  of  his  past,  might  enjoy  his  present,  help  to 
shape  his  future.  There  was  no  time  to  look  into  her  heart, 


NO.  129 

for  up  sprung  its  warm  blood  to  her  cheek,  its  hope  to  her 
eye,  its  longing  to  her  lips,  its  answer  glad  and  ready  — 

"Ah,  this  is  love!" 

The  clock  struck  ten,  and  after  lingering  a  little  Sylvia 
went  down.  Slowly,  because  her  errand  was  a  hard  one ; 
thoughtfully,  because  she  knew  not  where  nor  how  she  could 
best  deliver  it.  No  need  to  look  for  him  or  linger  for  his 
coming  ;  he  was  already  there.  Alone  in  the  hall,  absently 
smoothing  a  little  silken  shawl  she  often  wore,  and  waiting 
with  a  melancholy  patience  that  smote  her  to  the  heart 
He  went  to  meet  her,  took  both  her  hands  in  his,  and  looked 
into  her  face  so  tenderly,  so  wistfully !  — 

"Sylvia,  is  it  good  night  or  good  by  ?" 

Her  eyes  filled,  her  hands  trembled,  h$\  eulor  paled,  but 
she  answered  ateadily  — 

11  Forgive  me ;  it  is  good  by." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

HOLLY. 

"  ANOTHER  gift  for  you,  Sylvia.  I  don't  know  the  writing, 
but  it  smells  like  flowers,"  said  Mark,  as  a  smiling  maid 
brought  in  a  package  on  Christmas  morning. 

Sylvia  tore  off  the  wrapper,  lifted  a  cover,  and  exclaimed 
with  pleasure,  though  it  was  the  simplest  present  she  had 
received  that  day.  Only  an  osier  basket,  graceful  in  design 
and  shape,  lined  with  moss,  and  filled  with  holly  sprays, 
the  scarlet  berries  glowing  beautifully  among  the  polished 
green.  No  note,  no  card,  no  hint  of  its  donor  anywhere 
appeared,  for  none  of  them  recognized  the  boldly  written 
address.  Presently  a  thought  came  to  Sylvia;  in  a  mo 
ment  the  mystery  seemed  to  grow  delightfully  clear,  and 
she  said  to  herself  with  a  glow  of  joy,  "  This  is  so  like 
Adam  I  know  he  sent  it." 

"  I  must  say  it  is  the  most  peculiar  present  I  ever  sawf 
and  it  is  my  belief  that  the  boy  who  brought  it  stole  what 
ever  article  of  value  it  contained,  for  it  was  very  carelessly 
done  up.  No  person  in  their  senses  would  send  a  few 
sprigs  of  common  holly  to  a  young  lady  in  this  odd  way," 
said  Prue,  poking  here  and  there  in  hopes  of  finding  some 
clue. 

"  It  is  not  common,  but  very  beautiful ;  we  seldom  see 


HOLLY.  131 

any  so  large  and  green,  and  full  of  berries.  Nor  is  it  odd, 
but  very  kind,  because  from  the  worn  look  of  the  wrapper 
I  know  it  has  been  sent  a  long  way  to  please  me.  Look  at 
the  little  ferns  in  the  moss,  and  smell  the  sweet  moist  odoi 
that  seems  to  take  us  into  summer  woods  in  spite  of  a  snow 
storm.  Ah,  he  knew  what  I  should  like." 

"  Who  knew  ?  "  asked  Mark,  quickly. 

"  You  must  guess."  And  fearing  that  she  had  betrayed 
herself,  Sylvia  hurried  across  the  room  to  put  the  holly  in 
water. 

"  Ah,  ha,  I  see,"  said  Mark,  laughing. 

"  Who  is  it?  "  asked  Prue,  looking  mystified. 

"  Geoffrey,"  whispered  Mr.  Yule,  with  an  air  of  satisfac 
tion. 

Then  all  three  looked  at  one  another,  all  three  nodded 
sagely,  and  all  three  glanced  at  the  small  person  bending 
over  the  table  with  cheeks  almost  as  rosy  as  the  berries  in 
her  hand. 

Every  one  knows  what  a  Christmas  party  is  when  a  gen 
eral  friendliness  pervades  the  air,  and  good  wishes  fly  about 
like  confetti  during  Carnival.  To  such  an  one  went  Sylvia 
and  Mark  that  night,  the  brother  looking  unusually  blithe 
and  debonair,  because  the  beloved  Jessie  had  promised  to  be 
there  if  certain  aunts  and  uncles  would  go  away  in  time ; 
the  sister  in  a  costume  as  pretty  as  appropriate,  for  snow 
and  holly  made  her  a  perfect  Yule.  Sylvia  loved  dancing, 
and  knew  "  wall  flowers"  only  by  sight ;  therefore  she  was 
busy;  her  lover's  gift  shone  greenly  in  bosom,  hair,  and 
fleecy  skirts ;  therefore  she  was  beautiful,  and  the  thought 
that  Adam  had  not  forgotten  her  lay  warm  at  her  heart  ; 
therefore  she  was  supremely  happy.  Mark  was  devoted, 
but  disappointed,  for  Jessie  did  not  come,  and  having 


132  MOODS. 

doomed  the  detaining  aunts  and  uncles  to  a  most  unblessed 
fate,  he  sought  consolation  among  less  fair  damsels. 

"  Now  go  and  enjoy  yourself.  I  shall  dance  no  more 
round  dances,  for  Fd  rather  not  with  any  one  but  you,  and 
you  have  been  a  martyr  long  enough." 

Mark  roamed  away,  and  finding  a  cool  corner  Sylvia  watch 
ed  the  animated  scene  before  her  till  her  wandering  glance  was 
arrested  by  the  sight  of  a  new  comer,  and  her  mind  busied 
with  trying  to  recollect  where  she  had  seen  him.  The 
slender  figure,  swarthy  face,  and  vivacious  eyes  all  seemed 
familiar,  but  she  could  find  no  name  for  their  possessor  till 
he  caught  her  eye,  when  he  half  bowed  and  wholly  smiled. 
Then  she  remembered,  and  while  still  recalling  that  brief 
interview  one  of  their  young  hosts  appeared  with  the 
stranger,  and  Gabriel  Andre  was  duly  presented. 

"  I  could  hardly  expect  to  be  remembered,  and  am  much 
flattered,  I  assure  you.  Did  you  suffer  from  the  shower 
that  day,  Miss  Yule  ?  " 

The  speech  was  nothing,  but  the  foreign  accent  gave  a 
softness  to  the  words,  and  the  southern  grace  of  manner 
gave  an  air  of  romance  to  the  handsome  youth.  Sylvia 
was  in  the  mood  to  be  pleased  with  everybody,  everything, 
an.d  was  unusually  gracious  as  they  merrily  pursued  the 
subject  suggested  by  his  question.  Presently  he  asked  — 

"  Is  Warwick  with  you  now  ?  " 

"  He  was  not  staying  with  us,  but  with  his  friend,  Mr. 
Moor." 

"  He  was  the  gentleman  who  pulled  so  well  that  day  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  Is  Warwick  with  him  still  ?  " 

'«  Oh,  no,  he  went  away  three  months  ago." 

"  I  wonder  where !  " 


HOLLY.  133 

"  So  do  I ! " 

The  wish  had  been  impulsively  expressed,  and  was  as 
impulsively  echoed.  Young  Andre  smiled,  and  liked  Miss 
Yule  the  better  for  forgetting  that  somewhat  lofty  air  of 
hers. 

"  You  have  no  conjecture,  then?  I  wish  to  find  him, 
much,  very  much,  but  cannot  put  myself  upon  his  trail. 
He  is  so  what  you  call  peculiar  that  he  writes  no  letters, 
leaves  no  address,  and  roves  here  and  there  like  a  born 
gitano." 

"  Have  you  ill  news  for  him  ?  " 

"  I  have  the  best  a  man  could  desire  ;  but  fear  that  while 
I  look  for  him  he  has  gone  to  make  a  disappointment  for 
himself.  You  are  a  friend,  I  think  ?  " 

"  I  am."  , 

"  Then  you  know  much  of  him,  his  life,  his  ways?  " 

"  Yes,  both  from  himself  and  Mr.  Moor." 

"  Then  you  know  of  his  betrothal  to  my  cousin,  doubt- 
less,  and  I  may  speak  of  it,  because  if  you  will  be  so  kind 
you  may  perhaps  help  us  to  find  him." 

"  I  did  not  know  —  perhaps  he  did  not  wish  it—"  be 
gan  Sylvia,  folding  one  hand  tightly  in  the  other,  with  a 
quick  breath  and  a  momentary  sensation  as  if  some  one  had 
struck  her  in  the  face. 

"  He  thinks  so  little  of  us  I  shall  not  regard  his  wish 
just  now.  If  you  will  permit  me  I  would  say  a  word  for 
my  cousin's  sake,  as  I  know  you  will  be  interested  for  her, 
and  I  do  not  feel. myself  strange  with  you." 

Sylvia  bowed,  and  standing  before  her  with  an  air  half 
mannish,  half  boyish,  Gabriel  went  on  in  the  low,  rapid 
tone  peculiar  to  him. 

"  See,  then,  my  cousin  was  betrothed  in  May.     A  month 


134  MOODS. 

after  Adam  cries  out  that  he  loves  too  much  for  his  peace, 
that  he  has  no  freedom  of  his  heart  or  mind,  that  he  must 
go  away  and  take  his  breath  before  he  is  made  a  happy 
slave  forever.  Ottila  told  me  this.  She  implored  him  to 
stay ;  but  no,  he  vows  he  will  not  come  again  till  they 
marry,  in  the  next  June.  He  thinks  it  a  weakness  to  adore 
a  woman.  Impertinente !  I  have  no  patience  for  him." 

Gabriel  spoke  indignantly,  and  pressed  his  foot  into  the 
carpet  with  a  scornful  look.  But  Sylvia  took  no  heed  ol 
his  petulance,  she  only  kept  her  eyes  fixed  upon  him  with 
an  intentness  which  he  mistook  for  interest.  The  eyes 
were  fine,  the  interest  was  flattering,  and  though  quite 
aware  that  he  was  both  taking  a  liberty  and  committing  a 
breach  of  confidence,  the  impulsive  young  gentleman  chose 
to  finish  what  he  had  begun,  and  trust  that  no  harm  would 
follow. 

"  He  has  been  gone  now  more  than  half  a  year,  but  has 
sent  no  letter,  no  message,  nothing  to  show  that  he  still 
lives.  Ottila  waits,  she  writes,  she  grows  too  anxious  to 
endure,  she  comes  to  look  for  him.  I  help  her,  but  we  do 
not  find  him  yet,  and  meantime  I  amuse  her.  My  friends 
are  kind,  and  we  enjoy  much  as  we  look  about  us  for  this 
truant  Adam." 

If  Sylvia  could  have  doubted  the  unexpected  revelation, 
this  last  trait  was  so  like  Warwick  it  convinced  her  at  once. 
Though  the  belief  to  which  she  had  clung  so  long  was  sud 
denly  swept  from  under  her,  she  floated  silently  with  no 
outward  sign  of  fehipwreck  as  her  hope  went  down.  Pride 
was  her  shield,  and  crowding  back  all  other  emotions  she 
kept  herself  unnaturally  calm  behind  it  till  she  was  alone. 
If  Gabriel  had  been  watching  her  he  would  only  have  dis 
covered  that  she  was  a  paler  blonde  than  he  had  thought 


HOLLY.  135 

her ;  that  her  address  was  more  coldly  charming  than  be 
fore  ;  and  that  her  eye  no  longer  met  his,  but  rested 
steadily  on  the  folded  fan  she  held.  Ho  was  not  watching 
her,  however,  but  glancing  frequently  over  her  head  at 
something  at  the  far  end  of  tke  rooms  which  a  crowd  of 
assiduous  gentlemen  concealed.  His  eye  wandered,  but  his 
thoughts  did  not ;  for  still  intent  on  the  purpose  that  seemed 
to  have  brought  him  to  her,  he  said,  as  if  reluctant  to  be 
importunate,  yet  resolved  to  satisfy  himself — 

"  Pardon  me  that  I  so  poorly  entertain  you,  and  let  me 
ask  one  other  question  in  Ottila's  name.  This  Moor,  would 
he  not  give  us  some  clue  to  Adam's  haunts  ?  " 

"  He  is  absent,  and  will  be  till  spring,  I  think.  Where 
I  do  not  know,  else  I  could  write  for  you.  Did  Mr.  War 
wick  promise  to  return  in  June  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then,  if  he  lives,  he  will  come.  Your  cousin  must 
wait ;  it  will  not  be  in  vain." 

"  It  shall  not !" 

The  young  man's  voice  was  stern,  and  a  passionate  glit 
ter  made  his  black  eyes  fierce.  Then  the  former  suavity 
returned,  and  with  his  most  gallant  air  he  said  — 

"  You  are  kind,  Miss  Yule  ;  I  thank  you,  and  put  away 
this  so  troublesome  affair.  May  I  have  the  honor  ?  " 

If  he  had  proposed  to  waltz  over  a  precipice  Sylvia  felt 
as  if  she  could  have  accepted,  provided  there  was  time  to 
ask  a  question  or  two  before  the  crash  came.  A  moment 
afterward  Mark  was  surprised  to  see  her  floating  round  the 
room  on  the  arm  of  "  the  olive-colored  party,"  whom  he 
recognized  at  once.  His  surprise  soon  changed  to  pleasure, 
for  his  beauty-loving  eye  as  well  as  his  brotherly  pride  was 
gratified  as  the  whirling  couples  subsided  and  the  young 


136  MOODS. 

pair  went  circling  slowly  by,  giving  to  the  graceful  pastime 
the  enchantment  few  have  skill  to  lend  it,  and  making  it  a 
spectacle  of  life-enjoying  youth  to  be  remembered  by  the 
lookers  on. 

"  Thank  you  !  I  have  not  enjoyed  such  a  waltz  since  I; 
left  Cuba.  It  is  the  rudest  of  rude  things  to  say,  but  to 
you  I  may  confide  it,  because  you  dance  like  a  Spaniard- 
The  ladies  here  seem  to  me  as  cold  as  their  own  snow,  and 
they  make  dancing  a  duty,  not  a  pleasure.  They  should 
see  Ottila  ;  she  is  all  grace  and  fire.  I  could  kill  myself 
dancing  with  her.  Adam  used  to  say  it  was  like  wine  to 
watch  her." 

"  I  wish  she  was  here  to  give  us  a  lesson." 

"  She  is,  but  will  not  dance  to-night. ' 

"  Here  !  "  cried  Sylvia,  stopping  abruptly. 

"Why  not?  Elyott  is  mad  for  her,  and  gave  me  no 
peace  till  I  brought  her.  She  is  behind  that  wall  of  men  ; 
shall  I  make  a  passage  for  you  ?  She  will  be  glad  to  talk 
with  you  of  Adam,  and  I  to  show  you  the  handsomest 
woman  in  Habana." 

"  Let  us  wait  a  little  ;  I  should  be  afraid  to  talk  before 
so  many.  She  is  very  beautiful,  then." 

"  You  will  laugh  and  call  me  extravagant,  as  others  do, 
if  I  say  what  I  think  ;  so  I  will  let  you  judge  for  yourself. 
See,  your  brother  stands  on  tiptoe  to  peep  at  her.  Now 
he  goes  in,  and  there  he  will  stay.  You  do  not  like  that, 
perhaps.  But  Ottila  cannot  help  her  beauty,  nor  the  power 
she  has  of  making  all  men  love  her.  I  wish  she  could !  " 

"  She  is  gifted  and  accomplished,  as  well  as  lovely  ?  " 
asked  Sylvia,  glancing  at  her  companion's  gloomy  face. 

"  She  is  everything  a  woman  should  be,  and  I  could 
shoot  Adam  for  his  cruel  neglect." 


HOLLY.  137 

Gabriel's  dark  face  kindled  as  he  spoke,  and  Sylvia 
drearily  wished  he  would  remember  how  ill-bred  it  was  to 
tire  her  with  complaints  of  her  friend,  and  raptures  over 
his  cousin.  He  seemed  to  perceive  this,  turned  a  little 
haughty  at  her  silence,  and  when  he  spoke  was  all  the 
stranger  again. 

"  This  is  a  contra  danza  ;  shall  we  give  the  snow-ladies 
another  lesson  ?  First,  may  I  do  myself  the  pleasure  of 
getting  you  an  ice  ?  " 

"  A  glass  of  water,  please  ;  I  am  cool  enough  without 
more  ice." 

He  seated  her  and  went  upon  his  errand.  She  was  cool 
now ;  weary-footed,  sick  at  heart,  and  yearning  to  be  alone. 
But  in  these  days  women  do  not  tear  their  hair  and  make 
scenes,  though  their  hearts  may  ache  and  burn  with  the 
same  sharp  suffering  as  of  old.  Till  her  brother  came  she 
knew  she  must  bear  it,  and  make  no  sign.  She  did  bear 
it,  drank  the  water  with  a  smile,  danced  the  dance  with 
spirit,  and  bore  up  bravely  till  Mark  appeared.  She  was 
alone  just  then,  and  his  first  words  were  — 

"  Have  you  seen  her  ?  " 

"  No  ;  take  me  where  I  can,  and  tell  me  what  you  know 
of  her." 

"  Nothing,  but  that  she  is  Andre's  cousin,  and  he  adores 
her,  as  boys  always  do  a  charming  woman  who  is  kind  to 
them.  Affect  to  be  admiring  these  flowers,  and  look  with 
out  her  knowing  it,  or  she  will  frown  at  you  like  an  insult 
ed  princess,  as  she  did  at  me." 

Sylvia  looked,  saw  the  handsomest  woman  in  Havana, 
and  hated  her  immediately.  It  waa  but  natural,  for  Sylvia 
was  a  very  human  girl,  and  0'ctila  one  whom  no  woman 
would  love,  however  much  sho  might  admire. 


138  MOODS. 

Hers  was  that  type  of  character  which  every  age  has 
reproduced,  varying  externally  with  climates  and  condi 
tions,  but  materially  the  same  from  fabled  Circe  down  to 
Lola  Montes,  or  some  less  famous  syren  whose  subjects  are 
not  kings.  The  same  passions  that  in  ancient  days  broke 
out  in  heaven-defying  crimes ;  the  same  power  of  beauty, 
intellect,  or  subtlety ;  the  same  untamable  spirit  and  lack 
of  moral  sentiment  are  the  attributes  of  all ;  latent  or  alert 
as  the  noble  or  ignoble  nature  may  predominate.  Most  of 
us  can  recall  some  glimpse  of  such  specimens  of  Nature's 
work  in  a  daring  mood.  Many  of  our  own  drawing-rooms 
have  held  illustrations  of  the  nobler  type,  and  modern  men 
and  women  have  quailed  before  royal  eyes  whose  possessors 
ruled  all  spirits  but  their  own.  Born  in  Athens,  and  en 
dowed  with  a  finer  intellect,  Ottila  might  have  been  an 
Aspasia ;  or  cast  in  that  great  tragedy  the  French  Revolu 
tion,  have  played  a  brave  part  and  died  heroically  like 
Eoland  and  Corday.  But  set  down  in  uneventful  times, 
the  courage,  wit,  and  passij  n  that  might  have  served  high 
ends  dwindled  to  their  ba/<  -r  counterparts,  and  made  her 
what  she  was,  —  a  fair  allurement  to  the  eyes  of  men,  a 
born  rival  to  the  peace  of  women,  a  rudderless  nature  abso 
lute  as  fate. 

Sylvia  possessed  no  knowledge  that  could  analyze  for  her 
the  sentiment  which  repelled,  even  while  it  attracted  her 
toward  Warwick's  betrothed.  That  he  loved  her  she  did 
not  doubt,  because  she  felt  that  even  his  pride  would  yield 
to  the  potent  fascination  of  this  woman.  As  Sylvia  looked, 
her  feminine  eye  took  in  every  gift  of  face  and  figure,  every 
grace  of  attitude  or  gesture,  every  daintiness  of  costume, 
and  found  no  visible  flaw  in  Ottila,  from  her  haughty  head 
to  her  handsome  foot.  Yet.  when  her  scrutiny  ended,  the 


HOLLY.  139 

girl  felt  a  sense  of  disappointment,  and  no  envy  mingled 
with  her  admiration. 

As  she  stood,  forgetting  to  assume  interest  in  the  camel 
lias  before  her,  she  saw  Gabriel  join  his  cousin,  saw  her 
pause  and  look  up  at  him  with  an  anxious  question.  He 
answered  it,  glancing  toward  that  part  of  the  room  where 
she  was  standing.  Ottila's  gaze  was  fixed  upon  her  in 
stantly;  a  rapid,  but  keen  survey  followed,  and  then  the 
lustrous  eyes  turned  away  with  such  supreme  indifference, 
that  Sylvia's  blood  tingled  as  if  she  had  received  an  insult. 

"  Mark,  I  am  going  home,"  she  said,  abruptly. 

"  Very  well,  I'm  ready." 

When  safe  in  her  own  room  Sylvia's  first  act  was  to  take 
off  the  holly  wreath,  for  her  head  throbbed  with  a  heavy 
pain  that  forbade  hope  of  sleep  that  night.  Looking  at  the 
little  chaplet  so  happily  made,  she  saw  that  all  the  berries 
had  fallen,  and  nothing  but  the  barbed  leaves  remained. 
A  sudden  gesture  crushed  it  in  both  her  hands,  and  stand 
ing  so,  she  gathered  many  a  scattered  memory  to  confirm 
that  night's  discovery. 

Warwick  had  said,  with  such  a  tender  accent  in  his  voice, 
"  I  thought  of  the  woman  I  would  make  my  wife."  That 
was  Ottila.  He  had  asked  so  anxiously,  "  If  one  should 
keep  a  promise  when  it  disturbed  one's  peace  ?  "  That  was 
because  he  repented  of  his  hasty  vow  to  absent  himself  till 
June.  It  was  not  love  she  saw  in  his  eyes  the  night  they 
parted,  but  pity.  He  read  her  secret  before  that  compas 
sionate  glance  revealed  it  to  herself,  and  he  had  gone  away 
to  spare  her  further  folly.  She  had  deceived  herself,  had 
blindly  cherished  a  baseless  hope,  and  this  was  the  end. 
Even  for  the  nameless  gift  she  found  a  reason,  with  a  wom 
an's  «kill,  in  self-torlure.  Moor  had  met  Adam,  had  told 


140  "MOODS. 

his  disappointment,  and  still  pitying  her  Warwick  had  sent 
(she  pretty  greeting  to  console  her  for  the  loss  of  both  friend 
and  lover. 

This  thought  seemed  to  sting  her  into  sudden  passion. 
As  if  longing  to  destroy  every  trace  of  her  delusion,  she 
tore  away  the  holly  wreaths  and  flung  them  in  the  fire ; 
took  down  the  bow  and  arrow  Warwick  had  made  her  from 
above  the  etagere,  where  she  had  arranged  the  spoils  of  her 
happy  voyage,  snapped  them  across  her  knee  and  sent  them 
after  the  holly;  followed  by  the  birch  canoe,  and  every 
pebble,  moss,  shell,  or  bunch  of  headed  grass  he  had  given 
her  then.  The  osier  basket  was  not  spared,  the  box  went 
next,  and  even  the  wrapper  was  on  its  way  to  immolation, 
when,  as  she  rent  it  apart,  with  a  stern  pleasure  in  the 
sacrifice  it  was  going  to  complete,  from  some  close  fold  of 
the  paper  hitherto  undisturbed  a  card  dropped  at  her  feet. 

She  caught  it  up  and  read  in  handwriting  almost  as 
familiar  as  her  own :  "To  Sylvia,  —  A  merry  Christmas 
and  best  wishes  from  her  friend,  Geoffrey  Moor. ' '  The  word 
"friend"  was •  underscored,  as  if  he  desired  to  assure  her 
that  he  still  cherished  the  only  tie  permitted  him,  and  sent 
the  green  token  to  lighten  her  regret  that  she  could  give  no 
more. 

Warm  over  Sylvia's  sore  heart  rushed  the  tender  thought 
and  longing,  as  her  tears  began  to  flow.  "  He  cares  for 
me !  he  remembered  me !  I  wish  he  would  come  back  afoj 
comfort  me  I " 


CHAPTER  X. 

YES. 

IT  is  easy  to  say,  "  I  will  forget,"  but  perhaps  the  hardest 
task  given  us  is  to  lock  up  a  natural  yearning  of  the  heart, 
and  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  its  plaint,  for  captive  and  jailer 
must  inhabit  the  same  small  cell.  Sylvia  was  proud,  with 
that  pride  which  is  both  sensitive  and  courageous,  which 
can  not  only  suffer  but  wring  strength  from  suffering. 
While  she  struggled  with  a  grief  and  shame  that  aged  her 
with  their  pain,  she  asked  no  help,  made  no  complaint ;  but 
when  the  forbidden  passion  stretched  its  arms  to  her,  she 
thrust  it  back  and  turned  to  pleasure  for  oblivion. 

Those  who  knew  her  best  were  troubled  and  surprised  by 
the  craving  for  excitement  which  now  took  possession  of 
her,  the  avidity  with  which  she  gratified  it,  regardless  of 
time,  health,  and  money.  All  day  she  hurried  here  and 
there,  driving,  shopping,  sight-seeing,  or  entertaining  guests, 
at  home.  Night  brought  no  cessation  of  her  dissipation, 
for  when  balls,  masquerades,  and  concerts  failed,  there  still 
remained  the  theatre.  This  soon  became  both  a  refuge  and 
a  solace,  for  believing  it  to  be  less  harmful  than  other  excite 
ments,  her  father  indulged  her  new  whim.  But,  had  she 
known  it,  this  was  the  most  dangerous  pastime  she  could 
have  chosen.  Calling  for  no  exertion  of  her  own,  it  left 
her  free  to  passively  receive  a  stimulant  to  her  unhappy  love 


142  MOODS. 

in  watching  its  mimic  semblance  through  all  phases  of 
tragic  suffering  and  sorrow,  for  she  would  see  no  comedies, 
and  Shakespeare's  tragedies  became  her  study. 

This  lasted  for  a  time,  then  the  reaction  came.  A  black 
melancholy  fell  upon  her,  and  energy  deserted  soul  and 
body.  She  found  it  a  weariness  to  get  up  in  the  morning 
and  weariness  to  lie  down  at  night.  She  no  longer  cared 
even  to  seem  cheerful,  owned  that  she  was  spiritless,  hoped 
she  should  be  ill,  and  did  not  care  if  she  died  to-morrow. 
When  this  dark  mood  seemed  about  to  become  chronic  she 
began  to  mend,  for  youth  is  wonderfully  recuperative,  and 
the  deepest  wounds  soon  heal  even  against  the  sufferer's 
will.  A  quiet  apathy  replaced  the  gloom,  and  she  let  the 
tide  drift  her  where  it  would,  hoping  nothing,  expecting 
nothing,  asking  nothing  but  that  she  need  not  suffer  any 
more.  * 

She  lived  fast ;  all  processes  with  her  were  rapid ;  and  the 
secret  experience  of  that  winter  taught  her  many  things. 
She  believed  it  had  only  taught  her  to  forget,  for  now  the 
outcast  love  lay  very  still,  and  no  longer  beat  despairingly 
against  the  door  of  her  heart,  demanding  to  be  taken  in 
from-  the  cold.  She  fancied  that  neglect  had  killed  it,  and 
that  its  grave  was  green  with  many  tears.  Alas  for  Sylvia ! 
how  could  she  know  that  it  had  only  sobbed  itself  to  sleep, 
and  would  wrake  beautiful  and  strong  at  the  first  sound  of 
its  master's  voice. 

Mark  became  eventful.  In  his  fitful  fashion  he  had 
painted  a  picture  of  the  Golden  Wedding,  from  sketches 
taken  at  the  time.  Moor  had  suggested  and  bespoken  it, 
that  the  young  artist  might  have  a  motive  for  finishing  it, 
because,  though  he  excelled  in  scenes  of  that  description,  he 
thought  them  beneath  him,  and  tempted  by  more  ambitious 


YES.  143 

designs,  neglected  his  true  branch  of  the  art.  In  April  it 
was  finished,  and  at  his  father's  request  Mark  reluctantly 
sent  it  with  his  Clytemnestra  to  the  annual  exhibition.  One 
morning  at  breakfast  Mr.  Yule  suddenly  laughed  out  be 
hind  his  paper,  and  with  a  face  of  unmixed  satisfaction 
passed  it  to  his  son,  pointing  to  a  long  critique  upon  the 
Exhibition.  Mark  prepared  himself  to  receive  with  becom 
ing  modesty  the  praises  lavished  upon  his  great  work,  but 
was  stricken  with  amazement  to  find  Clytemnestra  disposed 
of  in  a  single  sentence,  and  the  Golden  Wedding  lauded  in 
a  long  enthusiastic  paragraph. 

"  What  the  deuce  does  the  man  mean !  "  he  ejaculated, 
staring  at  his  father. 

"  He  means  that  the  work  which  warms  the  heart  is 
greater  than  that  which  freezes  the  blood,  I  suspect.  Moor 
knew  what  you  could  do  and  has  made  you  do  it,  sure  that 
if  you  worked  for  fame  unconsciously  you  should  achieve  it. 
This  is  a  success  that  I  can  appreciate,  and  I  congratulate 
you  heartily,  my  son." 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  But  upon  my  word  I  don't  under 
stand  it,  and  if  this  was  n't  written  by  the  best  Art  critio 
in  the  country  I  should  feel  inclined  to  say  the  writer  wa» 
a  fool.  Why  that  little  thing  was  a  daub  compared  to  the 
other." 

He  got  no  farther  in  his  protest  against  this  unexpected 
freak  of  fortune,  for  Sylvia  seized  the  paper  and  read  the 
paragraph  aloud  with  such  happy  emphasis  amid  Prue's 
outcries  and  his  father's  applause,  that  Mark  began  to  feel 
that  he  really  had  done  something  praiseworthy,  and  that 
the  "  daub  "  was  not  so  despicable  after  all. 

"  I'm  going  to  look  at  it  from  this  new  point  of  sight," 
was  his  sole  comment  as  he  wen£  away. 


144  MOODS. 

Three  hours  afterward  he  appeared  to  Sylvia  as  she  sat 
sewing  alone,  and  startled  her  with  the  mysterious  announce 
ment. 

"  I've  done  it !  " 

"Done  what?  Have  you  burnt  poor  Clytemnestra  ?  " 
"  Hang  Clytemnestra  I  I'll  begin  at  the  beginning  and 
prepare  you  for  the  grand  finale.  I  went  to  the  Exhibition, 
and  stared  at  Father  Blake  and  his  family  for  an  hour. 
Decided  that  was  n't  bad,  though  I  still  admire  the  other 
more.  Then  people  began  to  come  and  crowd  up,  so  that  I 
slipped  away  for  I  could  n't  stand  the  compliments.  Dahl- 
mann,  Scott,  and  all  the  rest  of  my  tribe  were  there,  and, 
as  true  as  my  name  is .  Mark  Yule,  every  man  of  them 
ignored  the  Greek  party  and  congratulated  me  upon  the 
success  of  that  confounded  Golden  Wedding." 

"  My  dearest  boy,  I  am  so  proud !  so  glad !  What  is  the 
matter?  Have  you  been  bitten  by  a  tarantula? " 

She  might  well  ask,  for  Mark  was  dancing  all  over  the 
carpet  in  a  most  extraordinary  style,  and  only  stopped  long 
enough  to  throw  a  little  case  into  Sylvia's  lap,  asking  as  a 
f  whole  faceful  of  smiles  broke  loose  — 

"  What  does  that  mean  ?  " 

She  opened  it,  and  a  suspicious  circlet  of  diamonds  ap 
peared,  at  sight  of  which  she  clapped  her  hands,  and  cried 
out  — 

"  You  're  going  to  ask  Jessie  to  wear  it ! " 

"  I  have !  I  have  !  "  sung  Mark,  dancing  more  wildly 
than  ever.  Sylvia  chased  him  into  a  corner  and  held  him 
there,  almost  as  much  excited  as  he,  while  she  demanded  a 
full  explanation,  which  he  gave  her,  laughing  like  a  boy. 
and  blushing  like  a  girl. 

"  You  have  no  business  to  ask,  but  of  course  I'm  dying 


YES.  145 

f.o  tell  you.  I  went  from  that  Painter's  Purgatory  as  we 
call  it,  to  Mr.  Hope's,  and  asked  for  Miss  Jessie.  My  an 
gel  came  down ;  I  told  her  of  my  success,  and  she  smiled  as 
never  a  woman  did  before ;  I  added  that  I'd  only  waited  to 
make  myself  more  worthy  of  her,  by  showing  that  I  had 
talent,  as  well  as  love  and  money  to  offer  her,  and  she  be 
gan  to  cry,  whereat  I  took  her  in  my  arms  and  ascended 
straight  into  heaven." 

"  Please  be  sober,  Mark,  and  tell  me  all  about  it.  Was 
she  glad?  Did  she  say  she  would?  And  is  everything 
as  we  would  have  it  ?  " 

"  It  is  all  perfect,  divine,  and  rapturous,  to  the  last  de 
gree.  Jessie  has  liked  me  ever  since  she  was  born,  she 
thinks  ;  adores  you  and  Prue  for  sisters ;  yearns  to  call  my 
parent  father ;  allowed  me  to  say  and  do  whatever  I  liked ; 
and  gave  me  a  ravishing  kiss  just  there.  Sacred  spot;  I 
shall  get  a  mate. to  it  when  I  put  this  on  her  blessed  little 
finger.  Try  it  for  me,  I  want  it  to  *be  right,  and  your  hands 
are  of  a  size.  That  fits  grandly.  When  shall  I  see  a  joy 
ful  sweetheart  doing  this  on  his  own  behalf,  Sylvia  ?  " 

''Never!" 

She  shook  off  the  ring  as  if  it  burned  her,  watching  it  roll 
glittering  away,  with  a  somewhat  tragical  expression.  Then 
she  calmed  herself,  and  sitting  down  to  her  work,  enjoyed 
Mark's  raptures  for  an  hour. 

The  distant  city  bells  were  ringing  nine  that  night  as  a 
man  paused  before  Mr.  Yule's  house,  and  attentively  scru 
tinized  each  window.  Many  were  alight,  but  on  the  drawn 
curtain  of  one  a  woman's  shadow  came  and  went.  He 
watched  it  a  moment,  passed  up  the  steps,  and  noiselessly 
went  in.  The  hall  was  bright  and  solitary ;  from  above 
came  the  sound  of  voices,  from  a  room  to  the  right,  the  stir 


146  MOODS. 

of  papers  and  the  scratch  of  a  pen,  from  one  on  the  left,  a 
steady  rustle  as  of  silk,  swept  slowly  to  and  fro.  To  the 
threshold  of  this  door  the  man  stepped  and  looked  in. 

Sylvia  was  just  turning  in  her  walk,  and  as  she  came 
musing  down  the  room,  Moor  saw  her  well.  With  some 
women  dress  has  no  relation  to  states  of  mind ;  with  Sylvia 
it  was  often  an  indication  of  the  mental  garb  she  wore. 
Moor  remembered  this  trait,  and  saw  in  both  countenance 
and  costume  the  change  that  had  befallen  her  in  his  long 
absence.  Her  face  was  neither  gay  nor  melancholy,  but 
serious  and  coldly  quiet,  as  if  some  inward  twilight  reign 
ed.  Her  dress,  a  soft,  sad  grey,  with  no  decoration  but  a 
knot  of  snowdrops  in  her  bosom.  On  these  pale  flowers  her 
eyes  were  fixed,  and  as  she  walked  with  folded  arms  and 
drooping  head,  she  sang  low  to  herself — 

'  Upon  the  convent  roof,  the  snows 

Lie  sparkling  to  the  moon ; 
My  breath  to  heaven  like  incense  goes, 

May  my  soul  follow  soon. 
Lord,  make  my  spirit  pure  and  clear, 

As  are  the  frosty  skies, 
Or  this  first  snowdrop  of  the  year, 

That  in  my  bosom  lies/ 

"  Sylvia  1 " 

Very  gentle  was  the  call,  but  she  started  as  if  it  had  been 
a  shout,  looked  an  instant  while  light  and  color  flashed  in 
to  her  face,  then  ran  to  him  exclaiming  joyfully  — 

"  Oh,  Geoffrey !  I  am  glad !  I  am  glad !  " 

There  could  be  but  one  answer  to  such  a  welcome,  and 
Sylvia  received  it  as  she  stood  there,  not  weeping  now,  but 
smiling  with  the  sincerest  satisfaction,  the  happiest  surprise. 
Moor  shared  both  emotions,  feeling  as  a  man  might  feel 


YES.  147 

when,  parched  with  thirst,  he  stretches  out  his  hand  for  a 
drop  of  rain,  and  receives  a  brimming  cup  of  water.  He 
drank  a  deep  draught  gratefully,  then,  fearing  that  it  might 
be  as  suddenly  withdrawn,  asked  anxiously  — 

"  ^ylvia,  are  we  friends  or  lovers?  " 

"Anything,  if  you  will  only  stay." 

She  looked  up  as  she  spoke,  and  her  face  betrayed  that  a 
conflict  between  desire  and  doubt  was  going  on  within  her. 
Impulse  had  sent  her  there,  and  now  it  was  so  sweet  to 
know  herself  beloved,  she  found  it  hard  to  go  away.  Her 
brother's  happiness  had  touched  her  heart,  roused  the  old 
craving  for  affection,  and  brought  a  strong  desire  to  fill  the 
aching  void  her  lost  love  had  left  with  this  recovered  one. 
Sylvia  had  not  learned  to  reason  yet,  she  could  only  feel, 
because,  owing  to  the  unequal  development  of  her  divided 
nature,  the  heart  grew  faster  than  the  intellect.  Instinct 
was  her  surest  guide,  and  when  she  followed  it  unblinded 
by  a  passion,  unthwarted  by  a  mood,  she  prospered.  But 
now  she  was  so  blinded  and  so  thwarted,  and  now  her  great 
temptation  came.  Ambition,  man's  idol,  had  tempted  the 
father  ;  love,  woman's  god,  tempted  the  daughter  ;  and,  as 
if  the  father's  atonement  was  to  be  wrought  out  through  his 
dearest  child  the  daughter  also  made  the  fatal  false  step  of 
her  life. 

"  Then  you  have  learned  to  love  me,  Sylvia?  " 

"No,  the  old  feeling / has  not  changed  except  to  grow 
more  remorseful,  more  eager  to  prove  its  truth.  Once  you 
asked  me  if  I  did  not  wish  to  love  you ;  then  I  did  not, 
now  I  sincerely  do.  If  you  still  want  me  with  my  many 
faults,  and  will  teach  me  in  your  gentle  way  to  be  all  I 
should  to  you,  I  will  gladly  learn,  because  I  never  needed 
love  as  I  do  now.  Geoffrey,  shall  I  stay  or  go?  " 


148  MOODS. 

"  Stay,  Sylvia.     Ah,  thank  God  for  this ! " 

If  she  had  ever  hoped  that  Moor  would  forget  her  for  hia 
own  sake,  she  now  saw  how  vain  such  hope  would  have  been, 
and  was  both  touched  and  troubled  by  the  knowledge  of 
her  supremacy  which  that  hour  gave  her.  She  was  as  much 
the  calmer  as  friendship  is  than  love,  and  was  the  first  to 
speak  again,  still  standing  there  content  although  her  words 
expressed  a  doubt. 

"  Are  you  very  sure  you  want  me  ?  Are  you  not  tired  of 
the  thorn  that  has  fretted  you  so  long  ?  Kemember,  I  am 
so  young,  so  ignorant,  and  unfitted  for  a  wife.  Can  I  give 
you  real  happiness  ?  make  home  what  you  would  have  it  ? 
and  never  see  in  your  face  regret  that  some  wiser,  better 
woman  was  not  in  my  place? " 

"  I  am  sure  of  myself,  and  satisfied  with  you,  as  you  are 
no  wiser,  no  better,  nothing  but  my  Sylvia."' 

"  It  is  very  sweet  to  hear  you  say  that  with  such  a  look. 
I  do  not  deserve  it  but  I  will.  Is  the  pain  I  once  gave  you 
gone  now,  Geoffrey?" 

"  Gone  forever." 

"  Then  I  am  satisfied,  and  will  begin  my  life  anew  by 
trying  to  learn  well  the  lesson  my  kind  master  is  to  teach 
me." 

When  Moor  went  that  night  Sylvia  followed  him,  and  as 
they  stood  together  this  happy  moment  seemed  to  recall  that 
other  sad  one,  for  taking  her  hands  again  he  asked,  smiling 
now  — 

"  Dear,  is  it  good  night  or  good  by  ?  " 

"  It  is  good  by  and  come  to-morrow." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

WOOING. 

NOTHING  could  have  been  more  unlike  than  the  two  pairs 
of  lovers  who  from  April  to  August  haunted  Mr.  Yule's 
house.  One  pair  was  of  the  popular  order,  for  Mark  was 
tenderly  tyrannical,  Jessie  adoringly  submissive,  and  at  all 
hours  of  the  day  they  were  to  be  seen  making  tableaux  of 
themselves.  The  other  pair  were  of  the  peculiar  order, 
undemonstrative  and  unsentimental,  but  quite  as  happy. 
Moor  knew  his  power,  but  used  it  generously,  asking  little 
while  giving  much.  Sylvia  as  yet  found  nothing  to  regret, 
for  so  gently  was  she  taught,  the  lesson  could  not  seem 
hard,  and  when  her  affection  remained  unchanged  in  kind, 
although  it  deepened  in  degree,  she  said  within  herself  — 

"  That  strong  and  sudden  passion  was  not  true  love,  but 
an  unwise,  unhappy  delusion  of  my  own.  I  should  be  glad 
that  it  is  gone,  because  I  know  I  am  not  fit  to  be  Warwick's 
wife.  This  quiet  feeling  which  Geoffrey  inspires  must  be 
a  safer  love  for  me,  and  I  should  be  grateful  that  in  making 
his  happiness  I  may  yet  find  my  own." 

She  tried  heartily  to  forget  herself  in  others,  unconscious 
that  there  are  times  when  the  duty  we  owe  ourselves  is 
greater  than  that -we  owe  to  them.  -In  the  atmosphere  of 
cheerfulness  that  now  surrounded  her  she  could  not  but  be 
cheerful,  and  soon  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  find  a 


150  MOODS. 

more  harmonious  household  than  this.  One  little  cloud 
alone  remained  to  mar  the  general  sunshine.  Mark  was 
in  a  frenzy  to  be  married,  but  had  set  his  heart  on  a  double 
wedding,  and  Sylvia  would  not  fix  the  time,  always  plead 
ing— 

"  Let  me  be  quite  sure  of  myself  before  I  take  this  step, 
and  do  not  wait." 

Matters  stood  thus  till  Mark,  having  prepared  his  honey 
moon  cottage,  as  a  relief  to  his  impatience,  found  it  so  irre 
sistible  that  he  announced  his  marriage  for  the  first  of 
August,  and  declared  no  human  power  should  change  his 
purpose.  Sylvia  promised  to  think  of  it,  but  gave  no  de 
cided  answer,  for  though  she  would  hardly  own  it  to 
herself  she  longed  to  remain  free  till  June  was  past.  It 
came  and  went  without  a  sign,  and  July  began  before  the 
longing  died  a  sudden  death,  and  she  consented  to  be 
married. 

Mark  and  Jessie  came  in  from  the  city  one  warm  morn 
ing  and  found  Sylvia  sitting  idly  in  the  hall.  She  left  her 
preparations  all  to  Prue,  who  revelled  in  such  things,  and 
applied  herself  diligently  to  her  lesson  as  if  afraid  she 
might  not  learn  it  as  she  should.  Half  way  up  stairs  Mark 
turned  and  said,  laughing  — 

"  Sylvia,  I  saw  Searle  to-day,  —  one  of  the  fellows  whom 
we  met  on  the  river  last  summer,  —  and  he  began  to  tell 
me  something  about  Andre  and  the  splendid  cousin,  who  is 
married  and  gone  abroad  it  seems.  I  did  not  hear  much, 
for  Jessie  was  waiting;  but  you  remember  the  handsome 
Cubans  we  saw  at  Christmas,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  1  remember." 

"  Well,  I  thought  you  'd  like  to  know  that  the  lad  had 
gone  home  to  Cleopatra's  wedding,  so  you  cannot  have  him 


WOOING.  151 

to  dance  at  yours.     Have  you  forgotten  how  you  waltzed 
that  night?" 

"  No,  I've  not  forgotten." 

Mark  went  off  to  consult  Prue,  and  Jessie  began  to  dis 
play  her  purchases  before  eyes  that  only  saw  a  blur  of 
shapes  and  colors,  and  expatiate  upon  their  beauties  to  ears 
that  only  heard  the  words  —  "  The  splendid  cousin  is  mar 
ried  and  gone  abroad." 

"  I  should  enjoy  these  pretty  things  a  thousand  timea 
more  if  you  would  please  us  all  by  being  married  when  we 
are,"  sighed  Jessie,  looking  at  her  pearls. 

"  I  will." 

"What,  really?  Sylvia,  you  are  a  perfect  darling! 
Mark !  Prue !  she  says  she  will !  " 

Away  flew  Jessie  to  proclaim  the  glad  tidings,  and  Sylvia, 
with  a  curious  expression  of  relief,  regret,  and  resolve,  re 
peated  to  herself  that  decided  — 

-I  will." 

Every  one  took  care  that  Miss  Caprice  should  not  have 
time  to  change  her  mind.  The  whole  house  was  soon  in  a 
bustle,  for  Prue  ruled  supreme.  Mr.  Yule  fled  from  the 
din  of  women's  tongues,,  the  bridegrooms  were  kept  on  a 
very  short  allowance  of  bride,  and  Sylvia  and  Jessie  were 
almost  invisible,  for  milliners  and  mantua-makers  swarmed 
about  them  till  they  felt  like  animated  pin-cushions.  The 
last  evening  came  at  length,  and  Sylvia  was  just  planning 
an  escape  into  the  garden  when  Prue,  whose  tongue  wagged 
as  rapidly  as  her  hands  worked,  exclaimed  — 

"  How  can  you  stand  staring  out  of  window  when  there 
is  so  much  to  do?  Here  are  all  these  trunks  to  pack, 
Maria  in  her  bed  with  every  tooth  in  a  frightful  state  of 
inflammation,  and  that  capable  Jane  What  's-her-name  gone 


152  MOODS. 

off  while  I  was  putting  a  chamomile  poultice  on  her  face. 
If  you  are  tired  sit  down  and  try  on  all  your  shoes,  for  though 
Mr.  Peggit  has  your  measure,  those  absurd  clerks  seem  to 
think  it  a  compliment  to  send  children's  sizes  to  grown 
women.  I'm  sure  my  rubbers  were  a  perfect  insult." 

Sylvia  sat  down,  tugged  on  one  boot  and  fell  into  a 
reverie  with  the  other  in  her  hand,  while  Prue  clacked  on 
like  a  wordmill  in  full  operation. 

"  How  I'm  ever  to  get  all  these  gowns  into  that  trunk 
passes  my  comprehension.  There's  a  tray  for  each,  of 
course  ;  but  a  ball  dress  is  such  a  fractious  thing.  I  could 
shake  that  Antoinette  Eoche  for  disappointing  you  at  the 
last  minute ;  and  what  you  are  to  do  for  a  maid,  I  don't 
know.  You  '11  have  so  much  dressing  to  do  you  will  be 
quite  worn  out ;  and  I  want  you  to  look  your  best  on  all 
occasions,  for  you  will  meet  everybody.  This  collar  won't 
wear  well;  Clara  hasn't  a  particle  of  judgment,  though 
her  taste  is  sweet.  These  hose,  now,  are  a  good,  firm 
article  ;  I  chose  them  myself.  Do  be  sure  you  get  all  your 
things  from  the  wash.  At  those  great  hotels  there 's  a  deal 
if  pilfering,  and  you  are  so  careless." 

Here  Sylvia  came  out  of  her  reverie  with  a  sigh  that  was 
almost  a  groan. 

"Don't  they  fit?     I  knew  they  wouldn't!"  said  Prue, 
with  an  air  of  triumph. 

"  The  boots  suit  me,  but  the  hotels  do  not;  and  if  it  was 
not  ungrateful,  after  all  your  trouble,  I  should  like  to  make 
a  bonfire  of  this  roomful  of  haberdashery,  and  walk  quietly 
iway  to  my  new  home  by  the  light  of  it." 

As  if  the  bare  idea  of  such  an  awful  proceeding  robbed 
her  of  all  strength,  Miss  Yule  sat  suddenly  down  in  the 
trunk  by  which  she  was  standing.  Fortunately  it  waa 


WOOING.  153 

nearly  full,  but  her  appearance  was  decidedly  ludicrous  as 
she  sat  with  the  collar  in  one  uplifted  hand,  the  hose  in  the 
other,  and  the  ball  dress  laid  over  her  lap  like  a  fainting 
lady ;  while  she  said,  with  imploring  solemnity,  which 
changed  abruptly  from  the  pathetic  to  the  comic  at  the  end 
of  her  speech  — 

"  Sylvia,  if  I  ever  cherished  a  wish  in  this  world  of  dis- 
appointmenti  it  is  that  your  wedding  shall  have  nothing 
peculiar  about  it>  because  every  friend  and  relation  you  've 
got  expects  it.  Do  let  me  have  the  comfort  of  knowing 
that  every  one  was  surprised  and  pleased ;  for  if  the  ex 
pression  was  elegant  (which  it  is  n't,  and  only  suggested  by 
my  trials  with  those  dressmakers) ,  I  should  say  I  was  on 
pins  and  needles  till  it 's  all  over.  Bless  me  I  and  so  I  am, 
for  here  are  three  on  the  floor  and  one  in  my  shoe."  Prue 
paused  to  extract  the  appropriate  figure  of  speech  which  she 
had  chosen,  and  Sylvia  said  — 

"If  we  have  everything  else  as  you  wish  it,  would  you 
mind  if  we  did  n't  go  the  journey  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  should.  Every  one  goes  a  wedding  trip, 
its  part  of  the  ceremony;  and  if  two  carriages  and  two 
bridal  pairs  don't  leave  here  to-morrow,  I  shall  feel  as  if  all 
my  trouble  had  been  thrown  away." 

"  I'll  go,  Prue,  I'll  go  ;  and  you  shall  be  satisfied.  But 
I  thought  we  might  go  from  here  in  style,  and  then  slip  off 
on  some  quieter  trip.  I  am  so  tired  I  dread  the  idea  of 
frolicking  for  a  whole  month,  as  Mark  and  Jessie  mean 
to  do." 

It  was  Prue's  turn  to  groan  now,  and  she  did  so  dis 
mally.  But  Sylvia  had  never  asked  a  favor  in  vain,  and 
this  was  not  the  moment  to  refuse  to  her  anything,  so 
worldly  pride  yielded  to  sisterly  affection,  and  Prue  said 


154  MOODS. 

with  resignation,  as  she  fell  to  work  more  vigorously  than 
ever,  because  she  had  wasted  five  good  minutes  — 

"Do  as  you  like,  dear,  you  shall  not  be  crossed  on  your 
last  day  at  home,  Ask  Geoffrey,  and  if  you  are  happy  I'm 
satisfied." 

Before  Sylvia  could  thank  her  sister  there  came  a  tap 
and  a  voice  asking  — 

"Might  I  come  in?" 

"  If  you  can  get  in,"  answered  Prue,  as,  reversing  her 
plan  in  her  hurry,  she  whisked  the  collar  into  a  piecebag 
and  the  hose  into  a  bandbox. 

Moor  paused  on  the  threshold  in  a  masculine  maze,  that 
one  small  person  could  need  so  much  drapery. 

"  May  I  borrow  Sylvia  for  a  little  while  ?  A  breath  of 
air  will  do  her  good,  and  I  want  her  bright  and  blooming 
for  to-morrow,  else  young  Mrs.  Yule  will  outshine  young 
Mrs.  Moor." 

"  What  a  thoughtful  creature  you  are,  Geoffrey.  Take 
her  and  welcome,  only  pray  put  on  a  shawl,  Sylvia,  and 
don't  stay  out  late,  for  a  bride  with  a  cold  in  her  head  is 
the  saddest  of  spectacles." 

Glad  to  be  released  Sylvia  went  away,  and,  dropping  the 
shawl  as  soon  as  she  was  out  of  Prue's  sight,  paced  up  and 
down  the  garden  walks  upon  her  lover's  arm.  Having 
heard  her  wish  and  given  a  hearty  assent  Moor  asked  — 

"  Where  shall  we  go?  Tell  me  what  you  would  like 
best  and  you  shall  have  it.  You  will  not  let  me  give  you 
many  gifts,  but  this  pleasure  you  will  accept  from  me  I 
know." 

"  You  give  me  yourself,  that  is  more  than  I  deserve. 
But  I  should  like  to  have  you  take  me  to  the  place  you  like 
best.  Don't  tell  me  beforehand,  let  it  be  a  surprise." 


WOOING.  155 

"  I  will,  it  is  already  settled,  and  I  know  you  will  like 
it.  Is  there  no  other  wish  to  be  granted,  no  doubt  to  be 
set  at  rest,  or  regret  withheld  that  I  should  know.  Tell 
me,  Sylvia,  for  if  ever  there  should  be  confidence  between 
us  it  is  now." 

As  he  spoke  the  desire  to  tell  him  of  her  love  for  Adam 
rose  within  her,  but  with  the  desire  came  a  thought  that 
modified  the  form  in  which  impulse  prompted  her  to  make 
confession.  Moor  was  both  sensitive  and  proud,  would  not 
the  knowledge  of  the  fact  mar  for  him  the  friendship  that 
was  so  much  to  both?  From  "Warwick  he  would  never 
learn  it,  from  her  he  should  have  only  a  half  confidence, 
and  so  love  both  friend  and  wife  with  an  untroubled  heart. 
Few  of  us  can  always  control  the  rebellious  nature  that  so 
often  betrays  and  then  reproaches,  few  always  weigh  the 
moment  and  the  act  that  bans  or  blesses  it,  and  where  is 
the  life  that  has  not  known  some  turning-point  when  a 
fugitive  emotion  has  decided  great  issues  for  good  or  ill  ? 
Such  an  emotion  came  to  Sylvia  then,  and  another  tempta 
tion,  wearing  the  guise  of  generosity,  urged  her  to  another 
false  step,  for  when  the  first  is  taken  a  second  inevitably 
follows. 

11 1  have  no  wish,  no  regret,  nothing  but  the  old  doubt 
of  my  unstable  self,  and  the  fear  that  I  may  fail  to  make 
you  happy.  But  I  should  like  to  tell  you  something.  I 
don't  know  that  you  will  care  for  it,  or  that  there  is  any 
need  to  tell  it>,  but  when  you  said  there  should  be  confi 
dence  between  us,  I  felt  that  I  wanted  you  to  know  that  I 
had  loved  some  one  before  I  loved  you." 

He  did  not  see  her  face,  he  only  heard  her  quiet  voice. 
He  had  no  thought  of  Adam,  whom  she  had  known  so  short 
a  time,  who  was  already  bound ;  he  only  fancied  that  she 


15  6  MOODS. 

spoke  of  some  young  lover  who  had  touched  her  heart,  and 
while  he  smiled  at  the  nice  sense  of  honor  that  prompted 
the  innocent  confession,  he  said,  with  no  coldness,  no  cuii- 
osity  in  voice  or  face  — 

"  No  need  to  tell  it,  dear.  I  have  no  jealousy  of  any  one 
who  has  gone  before  me.  Best  assured  of  this,  for  if  I 
could  not  share  so  large  a  heart  with  one  who  will  never 
claim  my  share  I  should  not  deserve  it." 

"  That  is  so  like  you !     Now  I  am  quite  at  ease." 

He  looked  down  at  her  as  she  went  beside  him,  thinking 
that  of  all  the  brides  he  had  ever  seen  his  own  looked  least 
like  one. 

"  I  always  thought  that  you  would  make  a  very  ardent 
lover,  Sylvia.  That  you  would  be  excited,  gay,  and  bril 
liant  at  a  time  like  this.  But  you  are  so  quiet,  so  absorbed, 
and  so  unlike  your  former  self  that  I  begin  to  think  I  do 
not  know  you  yet." 

"  You  will  in  time.  I  am  passionate  and  restless  by 
nature,  but  I  am  also  very  sensitive  to  all  influences,  per 
sonal  or  otherwise,  and  were  you  different  from  your  tran 
quil,  sunshiny  self,  I  too  should  change.  I  am  quiet  be 
cause  I  seem  in  a  pleasant  state,  half  waking,  half  dream- 
ing,  from  which  I  never  wish  to  wake.  I.  am  tired  of  the 
past,  contented  with  the  present,  and  to  you  I  leave  the 
future." 

"  It  shall  be  a  happy  one  if  I  can  make  it  so,  and  to 
morrow  you  will  give  me  the  dear  right  to  try." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  and  thinking  of  the  solemn  promises  to 
be  then  made,  she  added,  thoughtfully,  "  I  think  I  love,  I 
know  I  honor,  I  will  try  to  obey.  Can  I  do  more?  " 

Well  for  them  both  if  they  could  have  known  that  friend 
ship  is  love's  twin,  and  the  gentle  sisters  are  too  often  mis« 


WOOING.  157 

taken  for  each  other.  That  Sylvia  was  innocently  deceiv 
ing  both  her  lover  and  herself,  by  wrapping  her  friendship 
in  the  garb  her  lost  love  had  worn,  forgetting  that  the  wan 
derer  might  return  and  claim  its  own,  leaving  the  other  to 
suffer  for  the  borrowed  warmth.  They  did  not  know  it, 
and  walked  tranquilly  together  in  the  summer  night,  plan 
ning  the  new  life  as  they  went,  and  when  they  parted  Moor 
pointed  to  a  young  moon  hanging  in  the  sky. 

"  See,  Sylvia,  our  honeymoon  has  risen." 

"  May  it  be  a  happy  one ! " 

1 '  It  will  be,  and  when  the  anniversary  of  this  glad  night 
comes  round  it  shall  be  shining  still.  God  bless  my  little 
wife." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

WEDDING. 

SYLVIA  was  awakened  on  her  wedding  morning  by  a 
curious  choking  sound,  and  starting  up  found  Prue  crying 
over  her  as  if  her  heart  were  broken. 

"  What  has  happened?  Is  Geoffrey  ill?  Is  all  the 
silver  stolen  ?  Can't  the  Bishop  come  ?  "  she  asked,  won 
dering  what  calamity  could  move  her  sister  to  tears  at  such 
a  busy  time. 

Prue  took  Sylvia  in  her  arms,  and  rocking  to  and  fro  as 
if  she  were  still  a  baby,  poured  forth  a  stream  of  words 
and  tears  together. 

"  Nothing  has  happened ;  I  came  to  call  you,  and  broke 
down  because  it  was  the  last  time  I  should  do  it.  I've 
been  awake  all  night,  thinking  of  you  and  all  you  've 
been  to  me  since  I  took  you  in  my  arms  nineteen  years  ago, 
and  said  you  should  be  mine.  My  little  Sylvia,  I've  been 
neglectful  of  so  many  things,  and  now  I  see  them  all ;  I've 
fretted  you  with  my  ways,  and  have  n't  been  patient  enough 
with  yours  ;  I've  been  selfish  even  about  your  wedding,  and 
it  won't  be  as  you  like  it ;  you  '11  reproach  me  in  your  heart, 
and  I  shall  hate  myself  for  it  when  you  are  gone  never  to 
be  my  care  and  comfort  any  more.  And  —  oh,  my  dear, 
my  dear,  what  shall  I  do  without  you  ?  " 

This  unexpected  demonstration  from  her  prosaic  sister 


WEDDING.  159 

touched  Sylvia  more  than  the  most  sentimental  lamenta 
tions  from  another.  It  brought  to  mind  all  the  past  devo 
tion,  the  future  solitude  of  Prue's  life,  and  she  clung  about 
her  neck  tearless  but  very  tender. 

"  I  never  shall  reproach  you,  never  cease  to  love  and 
thank  you  for  all  you've  been  to  me,  my  dear  old  girl. 
You  must  n't  grieve  over  me,  or  think  I  shall  forget  you,  for 
you  never  shall  be  forsaken  ;  and  very  soon  I  shall  be  back, 
almost  as  much  your  Sylvia  as  ever.  Mark  will  live  on  one 
side,  I  shall  live  on  the  other,  and  we  '11  be  merry  and  cosy 
together.  And  who  knows  but  when  we  are  both  out  of 
your  way  you  will  learn  to  think  of  yourself  and  marry 
also." 

At  this  Prue  began  to  laugh  hysterically,  and  exclaimed, 
with  more  than  her  usual  incoherency  — 

"  I  must  tell  you,  it  was  so  very  odd  !  I  didn't  mean 
to  do  so,  because  you  children  would  tease  me ;  but  now  I 
will  to  make  you  laugh,  for  it 's  a  bad  omen  to  cry  over 
a  bride,  they  say.  My  dear,  that  gouty  Mr.  MacGregor, 
when  I  went  in  with  some  of  my  nice  broth  last  week 
(Hugh  slops  so,  and  he  's  such  a  fidget,  I  took  it  myself) , 
after  he  had  eaten  every  drop  before  my  eyes,  wiped  his 
niouth  and  asked  me  to  marry  him." 

"  And  you  would  not,  Prue  ?  " 

"  Bless  me,  child,  how  could  I  ?  I  must  take  care  of  my 
poor  dear  father,  and  he  is  n't  pleasant  in  the  least,  you 
know,  but  would  wear  my  life  out  in  a  week.  I  really 
pitied  him,  however,  when  I  refused  him,  with  a  napkin 
round  his  neck,  and  he  tapped  his  waistcoat  with  a  spoon 
so  comically,  when  he  offered  me  his  heart,  as  if  it  were 
something  good  to  eat." 

•*  How  very  funny !     Wtat  made  him  do  it,  Prue  ?  " 


160  MOODS. 

"  He  said  he  'd  watched  the  preparations  from  his  win 
dow,  and  got  so  interested  in  weddings  that  he  wanted  one 
himself,  and  felt  drawn  to  me  I  was  so  sympathetic.  That 
means  a  good  nurse  and  cook,  my  dear.  I  understand  these 
invalid  gentlemen,  and  will  be  a  slave  to  no  man  so  fat  and 
fussy  as  Mr.  Mac,  as  my  brother  calls  him.  It 's  not  re 
spectful,  but  I  like  to  refresh  myself  by  saying  it  just  now." 

"  Never  mind  the  old  soul,  Prue,  but  go  and  have  your 
breakfast  comfortably,  for  there 's  much  to  be  done,  and 
no  one  is  to  dress  me  but  your  own  dear  self." 

At  this  Prue  relapsed  into  the  pathetic  again,  and  cried 
over  her  sister  as  if,  despite  the  omen,  brides  were  plants 
that  needed  much  watering. 

The  appearance  of  the  afflicted  Maria,  with  her  face  still 
partially  eclipsed  by  the  chamomile  comforter,  and  an  an 
nouncement  that  the  waiters  had  come  and  were  "  ordering 
round  dreadful,"  caused  Prue  to  pocket  her  handkerchief 
and  descend  to  turn  the  tables  in  every  sense  of  the  word. 

The  prospect  of  the  wedding  breakfast  made  the  usual 
meal  a  mere  mockery.  Every  one  was  in  a  driving  hurry, 
every  one  was  very  much  excited,  and  nobody  but  Prue  and 
the  colored  gentlemen  brought  anything  to  pass.  Sylvia 
went  from  room  to  room  bidding  them  good-by  as  the  child 
who  had  played  there  so  long.  But  each  looked  unfamiliar 
in  its  state  and  festival  array,  and  the  old  house  seemed 
to  have  forgotten  her  already.  She  spent  an  hour  with  her 
father,  paid  Mark  a  little  call  in  the  studio  where  he  was 
bidding  adieu  to  the  joys  of  bachelorhood,  and  preparing 
himself  for  the  jars  of  matrimony  by  a  composing  smoke, 
and  then  Prue  claimed  her. 

The  agonies  sho  suffered  during  that  long  toilet  are  be 
yond  the  powers  of  language  to  portray,  for  Prue  surpassed 


WEDDING.  161 

herself  and  was  the  very  essence  of  fussiness.  But  Sylvia 
bore  it  patiently  as  a  last  sacrifice,  because  her  sister  waa 
very  tender-hearted  still,  and  laughed  and  cried  over  her 
work  till  all  was  done,  when  she  surveyed  the  effect  with 
pensive  satisfaction. 

"  You  are  very  sweet,  my  dear,  and  so  delightfully  calm, 
you  really  do  surprise  me.  I  always  thought  you  'd  have 
hysterics  on  your  wedding-day,  and  got  my  vinaigrette  all 
ready.  Keep  your  hands  just  as  they  are,  with  the  hand 
kerchief  and  bouquet,  it  looks  very  easy  and  rich.  Dear  me, 
what  a  spectacle  I've  made  of  myself !  But  I  shall  cry  no 
more,  not  even  during  the  ceremony  as  many  do.  Such 
displays  of  feeling  are  in  very  bad  taste,  and  I  shall  be  firm, 
perfectly  firm,  so  if  you  hear  any  one  sniff  you  '11  know  it 
isn't  me.  Now  I  must  go  and  scramble  on  my  dress; 
first,  let  me  arrange  you  smoothly  in  a  chair.  There,  my 
precious,  now  think  of  soothing  things,  and  don't  stir 
till  Geoffrey  comes  for  you." 

Too  tired  to  care  what  happened  just  then,  Sylvia  sat  as 
she  was  placed,  feeling  like  a  fashion-plate  of  a  bride,  and 
wishing  she  could  go  to  sleep  Presently  the  sound  of  steps 
as  fleet  as  Mark's  but  lighter,  waked  her  up,  and  forgetting 
orders,  she  rustled  to  the  door  with  an  expression  which 
fashion-plates  have  not  yet  attained. 

"  Good  morning,  little  bride." 

"Good  morning,  bonny  bridegroom." 

Then  they  looked  at  one  another,  and  both  smiled.  But 
they  seemed  to  have  changed  characters,  for  Moor'g  usually 
tranquil  face  was  full  of  pale  excitement ;  Sylvia's  usually 
vivacious  one,  full  of  quietude,  and  her  eyes  wore  the  un 
questioning  content  of  a  child  who  accepts  some  friendly 
hund,  sure  that  it  will  lead  it  right 
14  a 


161  MOODS. 

with  "  pooring  "  the  silvery  dress,  smelling  the  flowers  and 
staring  at  the  Bishop. 

After  this,  all  prospered.  The  gloves  came  smoothly  jff, 
the  rings  went  smoothly  on ;  no  one  cried  but  Prue,  no  one 
laughed  but  Tilly ;  the  brides  were  admired,  the  grooms 
envied;  the  service  pronounced  impressive,  and  when  it 
ended,  a  tumult  of  congratulations  arose. 

Sylvia  always  had  a  very  confused  idea  of  what  happened 
during  the  next  hour.  She  remembered  being  kissed  till 
her  cheeks  burned,  and  shaken  hands  with  till  her  fingers 
tingled  ;  bowing  in  answer  to  toasts,  and  forgetting  to  reply 
when  addressed  by  the  new  name ;  trying  to  eat  and  drink, 
and  discovering  that  everything  tasted  of  wedding  cake  ; 
finding  herself  up  stairs  hurrying  on  her  travelling  dress, 
then  down  stairs  saying  good  by ;  and  when  her  father 
embraced  her  last  of  all,  suddenly  realizing  with  a  pang, 
that  she  was  married  and  going  away,  never  to  be  little 
Sylvia  any  more. 

Prue  was  gratified  to  her  heart's  content,  for,  when  the 
two  bridal  carriages  had  vanished  with  handkerchiefs  fly 
ing  from  their  windows,  in  answer  to  the  white  whirlwind 
on  the  lawn,  Mrs.  Grundy,  with  an  approving  smile  on 
her  aristocratic  countenance,  pronounced  this  the  most 
charming  affair  of  the  season. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


IT  began  with  a  pleasant  journey.  Day  after  day  they 
loitered  along  country  roads  that  led  them  through  many 
scenes  of  summer  beauty;  pausing  at  old-fashioned  inns 
and  wayside  farmhouses,  or  gipsying  at  noon  in  some  green 
nook  where  their  four-footed  comrades  dined  off  their  table 
cloth  while  they  made  merry  over  the  less  simple  fare  their 
last  hostess  had  provided  for  them.  When  the  scenery  was 
uninteresting,  as  was  sometimes  the  case,  for  Nature  will 
not  disturb  her  domestic  arrangements  for  any  bridal  pair, 
one  or  the  other  read  aloud,  or  both  sang,  while  conversation 
was  a  never-failing  pastime  and  silence  had  charms  which 
they  could  enjoy.  Sometimes  they  walked  a  mile  or  two, 
ran  down  a  hillside,  rustled  through  a  grain  field,  strolled 
into  an  orchard,  or  feasted  from  fruitful  hedges  by  the  way, 
as  care-free  as  the  squirrels  on  the  wall,  or  the  jolly  bro^n 
bees  lunching  at  the  sign  of  "  The  Clover-top."  They 
made  friends  with  sheep  in  meadows,  cows  at  the  brook, 
travellers  morose  or  bland,  farmers  full  of  a  sturdy  sense 
that  made  their  chat  as  wholesome  as  the  mould  they  delved 
in  ;  school  children  barefooted  and  blithe,  and  specimens  of 
womankind,  from  the  buxom  housewife  who  took  them 
under  her  motherly  wing  at  once,  to  the  sour,  snuffy,  shoe- 


161  MOODS. 

with  "  pooring  "  the  silvery  dress,  smelling  the  flowers  and 
staring  at  the  Bishop. 

After  this,  all  prospered.  The  gloves  came  smoothly  Dff, 
the  rings  went  smoothly  on ;  no  one  cried  but  Prue,  no  one 
laughed  but  Tilly ;  the  brides  were  admired,  the  grooms 
envied;  the  service  pronounced  impressive,  and  when  it 
ended,  a  tumult  of  congratulations  arose. 

Sylvia  always  had  a  very  confused  idea  of  what  happened 
during  the  next  hour.  She  remembered  being  kissed  till 
her  cheeks  burned,  and  shaken  hands  with  till  her  fingers 
tingled  ;  bowing  in  answer  to  toasts,  and  forgetting  to  reply 
when  addressed  by  the  new  name ;  trying  to  eat  and  drink, 
and  discovering  that  everything  tasted  of  wedding  cake  ; 
finding  herself  up  stairs  hurrying  on  her  travelling  dress, 
then  down  stairs  saying  good  by;  and  when  her  father 
embraced  her  last  of  all,  suddenly  realizing  with  a  pang, 
that  she  was  married  and  going  away,  never  to  be  little 
Sylvia  any  more. 

Prue  was  gratified  to  her  heart's  content,  for,  when  the 
two  bridal  carriages  had  vanished  with  handkerchiefs  fly 
ing  from  their  windows,  in  answer  to  the  white  whirlwind 
on  the  lawn,  Mrs.  Grundy,  with  an  approving  smile  on 
her  aristocratic  countenance,  pronounced  this  the  most 
charming  affair  of  the  season. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

SYLVIA'S  HONEYMOON. 

IT  began  with  a  pleasant  journey.  Day  after  day  they 
loitered  along  country  roads  that  led  them  through  many 
scenes  of  summer  beauty ;  pausing  at  old-fashioned  inns 
and  wayside  farmhouses,  or  gipsying  at  noon  in  some  green 
nook  where  their  four-footed  comrades  dined  off  their  table 
cloth  while  they  made  merry  over  the  less  simple  fare  their 
last  hostess  had  provided  for  them.  When  the  scenery  was 
uninteresting,  as  was  sometimes  the  case,  for  Nature  will 
not  disturb  her  domestic  arrangements  for  any  bridal  pair, 
one  or  the  other  read  aloud,  or  both  sang,  while  conversation 
was  a  never-failing  pastime  and  silence  had  charms  which 
they  could  enjoy.  Sometimes  they  walked  a  mile  or  two, 
ran  down  a  hillside,  rustled  through  a  grain  field,  strolled 
into  an  orchard,  or  feasted  from  fruitful  hedges  by  the  way, 
as  care-free  as  the  squirrels  on  the  wall,  or  the  jolly  bro\\n 
bees  lunching  at  the  sign  of  "  The  Clover-top."  They 
made  friends  with  sheep  in  meadows,  cows  at  the  brook, 
travellers  morose  or  bland,  farmers  full  of  a  sturdy  sense 
that  made  their  chat  as  wholesome  as  the  mould  they  delved 
in  ;  school  children  barefooted  and  blithe,  and  specimens  of 
womankind,  from  the  buxom  housewife  who  took  them 
under  her  motherly  wing  at  once,  to  the  sour,  snuffy,  shoe- 


166  MOODS. 

binding  spinster  with  "  No  Admittance "  written  all  over 
her  face. 

To  Moor  the  world  was  glorified  with  the  purple  light 
which  seldom  touches  it  "but  once  for  any  of  us ;  the  jour 
ney  was  a  wedding  march,  made  beautiful  by  summer, 
victorious  by  joy  ;  his  young  wife  the  queen  of  women,  and 
himself  an  equal  of  the  gods  because  no  longer  conscious 
of  a  want  Sylvia  could  not  be  otherwise  than  happy,  for 
finding  unbounded  liberty  and  love  her  portion,  she  had 
nothing  to  regret,  and  regarded  marriage  as  an  agreeable 
process  which  had  simply  changed  her  name  and  given  her 
protector,  friend,  and  lover  all  in  one.  She  was  therefore  her 
sweetest  and  sincerest  self,  miraculously  docile,  and  charm 
ingly  gay ;  interested  in  all  she  saw,  and  quite  overflowing 
with  delight  when  the  last  days  of  the  week  betrayed  the 
secret  that  her  destination  was  the  mountains. 

Loving  the  sea  so  well,  her  few  flights  from  home  had 
given  her  only  marine  experiences,  and  the  flavor  of  entire 
novelty  was  added  to  the  feast  her  husband  had  provided 
for  her.  It  came  to  her  not  only  when  she  could  enjoy  it 
most,  but  when  she  needed  it  most,  soothing  the  unquiet, 
stimulating  the  nobler  elements  which  ruled  her  life  by 
turns  and  fitting  her  for  what  lay  before  her.  Choosing  the 
quietest  roads,  Moor  showed  her  the  wonders  of  a  region 
whose  wild  grandeur  and  beauty  make  its  memory  a  life 
long  satisfaction.  Day  after  day  they  followed  mountain 
paths,  studying  the  changes  of  an  ever- varying  landscape, 
watching  the  flush  of  dawn  redden  the  granite  fronts  of 
these  Titans  scared  with  centuries  of  storm,  the  lustre  of 
noon  brood  over  them  until  they  smiled,  the  evening  purple 
wrap  them  in  its  splendor,  or  moonlight  touch  them  with  its 
magic ;  till  Sylvia,  always  looking  up  at  that  which  filled 


SYLVIA'S  HONEYMOON.  *     167 

her  heart  with  reverence  and  awe,  was  led  to  look  beyond, 
and  through  the  medium  of  the  friend  beside  her  learned 
that  human  love  brings  us  nearer  to  the  Divine,  and  is  the 
surest  means  to  that  great  end. 

The  last  week  of  the  honeymoon  came  all  too  soon,  for 
then  they  had  promised  to  return.  The  crowning  glory  of 
the  range  was  left  until  the  last,  and  after  a  day  of  memor 
able  delights  Sylvia  sat  in  the  sunset  feasting  her  eyes  upon 
the  wonders  of  a  scene  which  is  indescribable,  for  words 
have  limits  and  that  is  apparently  illimitable.  Presently 
Moor  came  to  her  asking  — 

"  Will  you  join  a  party  to  the  great  ice  palace,  and  see 
three  acres  of  snow  in  August,  worn  by  a  waterfall  into  a 
cathedral,  as  white  if  not  as  durable  as  any  marble?" 

"I  sit  so  comfortably  here  I  think  I  had  rather  not. 
But  you  must  go  because  you  like  such  wonders,  and  I 
shall  rest  till  you  come  back." 

"  Then  I  shall  take  myself  off  and  leave  you  to  muse 
over  the  pleasures  of  the  day,  which  for  a  few  hours  has 
made  you  one  of  the  most  eminent  women  this  side  the  Rocky 
Mountains.  There  is  a  bugle  at  the  house  here  with  which 
to  make  the  echoes,  I  shall  take  it  with  me,  and  from  time 
to  time  send  up  a  sweet  reminder  that  you  are  not  to  stray 
away  and  lose  yourself." 

Sylvia  sat  for  half  an  hour,  then  wearied  by  the  immen 
sity  of  the  wide  landscape  she  tried  to  rest  her  mind  by 
examining  the  beauties  close  at  hand.  Strolling  down  the 
path  the  sight- seers  had  taken,  she  found  herself  in  a  rocky 
basin,  scooped  in  the  mountain  side  like  a  cup  for  a  little 
pool,  so  clear  and  bright  it  looked  a  diamond  set  in  jet.  A 
fringe  of  scanty  herbage  had  collected  about  its  brim, 
russet  mosses,  purple  heath,  and  delicate  white  flowers, 


168  MOODS. 

like  a  band  of  tiny  hill  people  keeping  their  revels  by  some 
fairy  well.  The  spot  attracted  her,  and  remembering  that* 
she  was  not  to  stray  away,  she  sat  down  beside  the  path  to 
wait  for  her  husband's  return. 

In  the  act  of  bending  over  the  pool  te  sprinkle  the  thirsty 
little  company  about  it,  her  hand  was  arrested  by  the 
tramp  of  approaching  feet,  and  looking  up  to  discover  who 
was  the  disturber  of  her  retreat,  she  saw  a  man  pausing 
at  the  top  of  the  path  opposite  to  thai;  by  which  she  had 
come.  He  seemed  scrutinizing  the  solitary  occupant  of  the 
dell  before  descending ;  but  as  she  turned  her  face  to  him 
he  flung  away  knapsack,  hat,  and  staff,  and  then  with  a 
great  start  she  saw  no  stranger,  but  Adam  Warwick.  Com 
ing  down  to  her  so  joyfully,  so  impetuously,  she  had  only 
time  to  recognise  him,  and  cry  out,  when  she  was  swept  up 
in  an  embrace  as  tender  as  irresistible,  and  lay  there  con 
scious  of  nothing,  but  that  happiness  like  some  strong  swift 
angel  had  wrapt  her  away  into  the  promised  land  so  long 
believed  in,  hungered  for,  and  despaired  of,  as  forever  lost. 
Soon  she  heard  his  voice,  breathless,  eager,  but  so  fond  it 
seemed  another  voice  than  his. 

"  My  darling  !  did  you  think  I  should  never  come  ?  " 

"  I  thought  you  had  forgotten  me,  I  knew  you  were  mar 
ried.  Adam,  put  me  down." 

But  he  only  held  her  closer,  and  laughed  such  a  happy 
laugh  that  Sylvia  felt  the  truth  before  he  uttered  it. 

"  How  could  I  marry,  loving  you?  How  could  I  forget 
you  even  if  I  had  never  come  to  tell  you  this  ?  Sylvia,  1 
know  much  that  has  passed.  Geoffrey's  failure  gave  me 
courage  to  hope  for  success,  and  that  the  mute- betrothal 
made  with  a  look  so  long  ago  had  been  to  you  all  it  h?  A 
been  to  me." 


SYLVIA'S    HONEYMOON.  1G9 

"  Adam,  you  are  both  right  and  wrong,  —  you  do  not 
know  all,  —  let  me  tell  you,"  —  began  Sylvia,  as  these- 
proofs  of  ignorance  brought  her  to  herself  with  a  shock  of 
recollection  and  dismay.  But  Warwick  was  as  absolute 
in  his  happiness  as  he  had  been  in  his  self-denial,  and  took 
possession  of  her  mentally  as  well  as  physically  with  a  des 
potism  too  welcome  and  entire  to  be  at  once  resisted. 

"  You  shall  tell  me  nothing  till  I  have  shown  the  cause 
of  my  hard-seemiag  silence.  I  must  throw  off  that  bur 
den  first,  then  I  will  listen  to  you  until  morning  if  you 
will.  I  have  earned  this  moment  by  a  year  of  effort,  let 
me  keep  you  here  and  enjoy  it  without  alloy." 

The  old  charm  had  lost  none  of  its  power,  for  absence 
seemed  to  have  gifted  it  with  redoubled  potency,  the  confirm 
ation  of  that  early  hope  to  grace  it  with  redoubled  warmth. 
Sylvia  let  him  keep  her,  feeling  that  he  had  earned  that 
small  reward  for  a  year's  endeavor,  resolving  to  grant  all 
now  left  her  to  bestow,  a  few  moments  more  of  blissful  ig 
norance,  then  to  show  him  his  loss  and  comfort  him,  sure 
that  her  husband  would  find  no  disloyalty  in  a  compassion 
scarcely  less  deep  and  self-forgetful  than  his  own  would 
have  been  had  he  shared  their  secret  Only  pausing  to 
place  himself  upon  the  seat  she  had  left,  Warwick  put  off 
aer  hat,  and  turning  her  face  to  his  regarded  it  with  such 
mfeigned  and  entire  content  her  wavering  purpose  was  fixed 
jy  a  single  look.  Then  as  he  began  to  tell  the  story  of  the 
past  she  forgot  everything  but  the  rapid  words  she  listened 
to,  the  countenance  she  watched,  so  beautifully  changed  and 
softened,  it  seemed  as  if  she  had  never  seen  the  man 
before,  or  saw  him  now  as  we  sometimes  see  familiar  figures 
glorified  in  dreams.  In  the  fewest,  kindest  words  Warwick 
told  her  of  Ottila,  the  promise  and  the  parting ;  then,  as  if 
15 


170  MOODS. 

the  dearer  theme  deserved  less  brevity,  he  lingered  on  it  as 
one  lingers  at  a  friend's  door,  enjoying  in  anticipation  the 
welcome  he  is  sure  awaits  him. 

"  The  night  we  walked  together  by  the  river  —  such  a 
wilful  yet  winning  comrade  as  I  had  that  day,  and  how  I 
enjoyed  it  all!  —that  night  I  suspected  that  Geoffrey  loved 
you,  Sylvia,  and  was  glad  to  think  it.  A  month  later  I 
was  sure  of  it,  and  found  in  that  knowledge  the  great  hard 
ship  of  my  life,  because  I  loved  you  myself.  Audacious 
thing  !  how  dared  you  steal  into  my  heart  and  take  posses 
sion  when  I  had  turned  my  last  guest  out  and  barred  the 
door  ?  I  thought  I  had  done  with  the  sentiment  that  had 
so  nearly  wrecked  me  once,  but  see  how  blind  I  was  —  the 
false  love  only  made  me  readier  for  the  true.  You  never 
seemed  a  child  to  me,  Sylvia,  because  you  have  an  old  soul 
in  a  young  body,  and  your  father's  trials  and  temptations 
live  again  in  you.  This  first  attracted  me.  I  liked  to 
watch,  to  question,  to  study  the  human  enigma  to  which  I 
had  found  a  clue  from  its  maker's  lips.  I  liked  your  can-  - 
dor  and  simplicity,  your  courage  and  caprice.  Even  your 
faults  found  favor  in  my  eyes  ;  for  pride,  will,  impetuosity 
were  old  friends  of  mine,  and  I  liked  to  see  them  working 
in  another  shape.  At  first  you  were  a  curiosity,  the:a  an 
amusement,  then  a  necessity.  I  wanted  you,  not  occasion 
ally,  but  constantly.  You  put  salt  and  savor  into  life  for 
me ;  for  whether  you  spoke  or  were  silent,  were  sweet  or 
sour,  friendly  or  cold,  I  was  satisfied  to  feel  your  nearness, 
and  always  took  away  an  inward  content  which  nothing 
else  could  give  me.  This  affection  was  so  unlike  the  other 
that  I  deceived  myself  for  a  time  —  not  long.  I  soon  knew 
what  had  befallen  me,  soon  felt  that  this  sentiment  was 
good  to  feel,  because  I  forgot  my  turbulent  and  worser  self 


171 


and  felt  the  nobler  regenerated  by  the  innocent  companion 
ship  you  gave  me.  I  wanted  you,  but  it  was  not  the  touch 
of  hands  or  lips,  the  soft  encounter  of  eyes,  the  tones  of 
tenderness,  I  wanted  most.  It  was  that  something  beyond 
my  reach,  vital  and  vestal,  invisible,  yet  irresistible ;  that 
something,  be  it  heart,  soul,  or  mind,  which  drew  me  to 
you  by  an  attraction  genial  and  genuine  as  itself.  My  Syl 
via,  that  was  love,  and  when  it  came  to  me  I  took  it  in, 
sure  that  whether  its  fruition  was  granted  or  denied  I 
should  be  a  manlier  man  for  having  harbored  it  even  for  an 
hour.  Why  turn  your  face  away  ?  Well,  hide  it  if  you 
will,  but  lean  here  as  you  did  once  so  long  ago." 

She  let  him  lay  it  on  his  shoulder,  still  feeling  that 
Moor  was  one  to  look  below  the  surface  of  these  things  and 
own  that  she  did  well  in  giving  so  pure  a  love  a  happy 
moment  before  its  death,  as  she  would  have  cherished 
Warwick  had  he  laid  dying. 

"  On  that  September  evening,  as  I  sat  alone,  I  had  been 
thinking  of  what  might  be  and  what 'must  be.  Had  de 
cided  that  I  would  go  away  for  Geoffrey's  sake.  He  was 
fitter  tjian  I  to  have  you,  being  so  gentle,  and  in  all  ways 
ready  to  possess  a  wife.  I  was  so  rough,  such  a  vagrant, 
so  full  of  my  own  purposes  and  plans,  how  could  I  dare 
to  take  into  my  keeping  such  a  tender  little  creature  as 
yourself  ?  I  thought  you  did  not  care  for  me  ;  I  knew 
any  knowledge  of  my  love  would  only  mar  his  own  ;  so  it 
was  best  to  go  at  once  and  leave  him  to  the  happiness  he 
so  well  deserved.  Just  then  you  came  to  me,  as  if  the 
wind  had  blown  my  desire  to  my  arms.  Such  a  loving 
touch  that  was !  it  nearly  melted  my  resolve,  it  seemed 
hard  not  to  take  the  one  thing  I  wanted,  when  it  came  to 
me  so  opportunely.  I  yearned  to  break  that  idle  piomise, 


172  MOODS. 

made  when  I  was  vain  in  my  own  conceit,  and  justly  pun 
ished  for  its  folly ;  but  you  said  keep  it,  and  I  did.  You 
could  not  understand  my  trouble,  and  when  I  sat  before 
you  so  still,  perhaps  looking  grim  and  cold,  you  did  not 
know  how  I  was  wrestling  with  my  unruly  self.  I  am  not 
truly  generous,  for  the  relinquishment  of  any  cherished 
object  always  costs  a  battle,  and. I  too  often  find  I  am 
worsted.  For  the  first  time  I  dared  not  meet  your  eyes  till 
you  dived  into  mine  with  that  expression  wistful  and  guile 
less,  which  has  often  made  me  feel  as  if  we  stood  divested 
of  our  bodies,  soul  to  soul. 

"  Tongue  I  could  control,  heart  I  could  not.  Up  it 
sprung  stronger  than  will,  swifter  than  thought,  and  an 
swered  you.  Sylvia,  had  there  been  one  ray  of  self-conscious 
ness  in  those  steady  eyes  of  yours,  one  atom  of  maiden 
shame,  or  fear,  or  trouble,  I  should  have  claimed  you  as  my 
own.  There  was  not ;  and  though  you  let  me  read  your 
face  like  an  open  book,  you  never  drpamed  what  eloquence 
was  in  it.  Innocent  heart,  that  loved  and  had  not  learned 
to  know  it.  I  saw  this  instantly,  saw  that  a  few  more  such 
encounters  would  show  it  to  you  likewise,  and  felt  more 
strongly  than  before  that  if  ever  the  just  deed  to  you,  the 
generous  one  to  Geoffrey  were  done,  it  should  be  then.  For 
that  was  the  one  moment  when  your  half-awakened  heart 
could  fall  painlessly  asleep  again,  if  I  did  not  disturb  it, 
and  dream  on  till  Geoffrey  woke  it,  to  find  a  gentler  master 
than  I  could  be  to  it." 

"  It  could  not,  Adam ;  you  had  wholly  roused  it,  and 
it  cried  for  you  so  long,  so  bitterly,  oh,  why  did"  you  not 
come  to  answer  it  before  ?  " 

"  How  could  I  till  the  year  was  over  ?  Was  I  not  obey 
ing  you  in  keeping  that  accursed  promise  ?  God  knows  I 


SYLVIAS   HONEYMOON.  173 

have  made  many  blunders,  but  I  think  the  most  senseless 
was  that  promise ;  the  most  short-sighted,  that  belief. 
What  right  had  I  to  fetter  my  tongue,  or  try  to  govern 
love  ?  Shall  I  ever  learn  to  do  my  own  work  aright,  and 
not'  meddle  with  the  Lord's  ?  Sylvia,  take  this  presump 
tuous  and  domineering  devil  out  of  me  in  time,  lest  I  blun 
der  as  blindly  after  you  are  mine  as  I  have  before.  Now 
let  me  finish  before  Mark  comes  to  find  us.  I  went  away, 
you  know,  singing  the  farewell  I  dared  not  speak,  and  for 
nine  months  kept  myself  sane  and  steady  with  whatever 
my  hands  found  to  do.  If  ever  work  of  mine  is  blessed  it 
will  be  that,  for  into  it  I  put  the  best  endeavor  of  my  life. 
Though  I  had  renounced  you,  I  kept  my  love ;  let  it  burn 
day  and  night,  fed  it  with  labor  and  with  prayer,  trusting 
that  this  selfish  heart  of  mine  might  be  recast  and  made  a 
fitter  receptacle  for  an  enduring  treasure.  In  May,  far  at 
the  West,  I  met  a  woman  who  knew  Geoffrey  ;  had  seen 
him  lately,  and  learned  that  he  had  lost  you.  She  was  his 
cousin,  I  his  friend,  and  through  our  mutual  interest  in  him 
this  confidence  naturally  came  about.  When  she  told  me 
this  hope  blazed  up,  and  all  manner  of  wild  fancies  haunted 
me.  Love  is  arrogant,  and  I  nourished  a  belief  that  even 
I  might  succeed  where  Geoffrey  failed.  You  were  so  young, 
you  were  not  likely  to  be  easily  won  by  any  other,  if  such 
a  man  had  asked  in  vain,  and  a  conviction  gradually  took 
possession  of  me  that  you  had  understood,  had  loved,  and 
were  yet  waiting  for  me.  A  month  seemed  an  eternity  to 
wait,  but  I  left  myself  no  moment  for  despair,  and  soon 
turned  my  face  to  Cuba,  finding  renewed  hope  on  the  way. 
Gabriel  went  with  me,  told  me  how  Ottila  had  searched  for 
me,  and  failing  to  find  me  had  gone  back  to  make  ready 
for  my  coming.  How  she  had  tried  tc  be  all  I  desired,  und 
150 


174  MOODS. 

how  unworthy  I  was  of  her.  This  was  well,  but  the  men 
tion  of  your  name  was  better,  and  much  close  questioning 
gave  me  the  scene  which  he  remembered,  because  Ottila  had 
chidden  him  sharply  for  his  disclosures  to  yourself.  Know, 
ing  you  so  well,  I  gathered  much  from  trifles  which  were 
nothing  in  Gabriel's  eyes.  I  felt  that  regard  for  me,  if 
nothing  warmer,  had  prompted  your  interest  in  them  ;  and 
out  of  the  facts  given  me  by  Faith  and  Gabriel  I  built 
myself  a  home,  which  I  have  inhabited  as  a  guest  till  now, 
when  I  know  myself  its  master,  and  welcome  its  dear  mis 
tress,  so  my  darling." 

He  bent  to  give  her  tender  greeting,  but  Sylvia  arrested 
him. 

"  Not  yet,  Adam  !  not  yet !  Go  on,  before  it  is  too  late 
to  tell  me  as  you  wish." 

He  thought  it  was  some  maidenly  scruple,  and  though 
he  smiled  at  it  he  respected  it,  for  this  same  coyness  in  the 
midst  of  all  her  whims  had  always  been  one  of  her  attrac 
tions  in  his  eye. 

"  Shy  thing !  I  will  tame  you  yet,  and  draw  you  to  me 
as  confidingly  as  I  drew  the  bird  to  hop  into  my  hand  and 
eat.  You  must  not  fear  me,  Sylvia,  else  I  shall  grow  tyran 
nical  ;  for  I  hate  fear,  and  like  to  trample  on  whatever  dares 
not  fill  its  place  bravely,  sure  that  it'  will  receive  its  due  as 
trustfully  as  these  little  mosses  sit  among  the  clouds  and 
find  a  spring  to  feed  them  even  in  the  rock.  Now  I  will 
make  a  speedy  end  of  this,  pleasant  as  it  is  to  sit  here  feel 
ing  myself  no  longer  a  solitary  waif.  I  shall  spare  you  the 
stormy  scenes  I  passed  through  with  Ottila,  because  I  do 
not  care  to  think  of  my  Cleopatra  while  I  hold  "  my  fine 
spirit  Ariel "  in  my  arms.  She  had  done  her  best,  but  had 
I  been  still  heart-free  I  never  could  have  married  her.  She 


SYLVIA'S  HONEYMOON.  175 

is  one  of  those  tameless  natures  which  only  God  can  govern ; 
I  dared  not,  even  when  I  thought  I  loved  her,  for  much  as  I 
love  power  I  love  truth  more.  I  told  her  this,  heard 
prayers,  reproaches,  threats,  and  denunciations;  tried  to 
leave  her  kindly,  and  then  was  ready  for  my  fate  with  you. 
But  I  was  not  to  have  my  will  so  easily.  I  had  fallen  into 
the  net,  and  was  not  to  leave  it  till  the  scourging  had  been 
given.  So  like  that  other  wandering  Christian,  I  cried  out, 
submitted,  and  was  the  meeker  for  it.  I  had  to  wait  a  little 
before  the  ship  sailed  ;  I  would  not  stay  at  El  Labarinto, 
Gabriel's  home,  for  Ottila  was  there  ;  and  though  the  fever 
raged  at  Havana,  I  felt  secure  in  my  hitherto  unbroken 
health.  I  returned  there,  and  paid  the  penalty  ;  for  weeks 
of  suffering  taught  me  that  I  cauld  not  trifle  with  this  body 
of  mine,  sturdy  as  it  seemed." 

"  Oh,  Adam,  who  took  care  of  you?  Where  did  you  lie 
and  suffer  all  that  time  ?  " 

"  Never  fret  yourself  concerning  that ;  I  was  not  neg 
lected.  A  sister  of  the  *  Sacred  Heart '  took  excellent 
care  of  me,  and  a  hospital  is  as  good  as  a  palace  when  one 
neither  knows  nor  cares  where  he  is.  It  went  hardly  with 
me,  I  believe;  but  being  resolved  to  live,  I  fought  it 
through.  Death  looked  at  me,  had  compassion,  and  passed 
by  There  is  a  Haytien  proverb  which  must  comfort  you  if  I 
am  a  gaunt  ghost  of  my  former  self:  '  A  lean  freeman  is 
better  than  a  fat  slave.'  There  comes  the  first  smile  I  have 
seen  ;  but  my  next  bit  of  news  will  bring  a  frown,  I  think. 
When  I  was  well  enough  to  creep  out,  I  learned  that  Ottila 
was  married.  You  heard  the  rumor,  doubtless,  but  not  the 
name,  for  Gabriel's  and  mine  were  curiously  blended  in 
many  minds  by  the  suddenness  of  my  disappearance  and  his 
appearance  as  the  bridegroom.  It  was  like  her,  —  she  had 


176  MOODS. 

prepared  for  me  as  if  sure  I  was  to  fill  the  place  I  had  left, 
hoping  that  this  confidence  of  hers  would  have  its  due 
effect  upon  me.  It  did  try  me  sorely,  but  an  experience 
once  over  is  as  if  it  had  never  been,  as  far  as  regret  or  in 
decision  is  concerned  ;  therefore  wedding  gowns  and  impe 
rious  women  failed  to  move  me.  To  be  left  a  groomless 
bride  stung  that  fiery  pride  of  hers  more  than  many  an 
actual  shame  or  sin  would  have  done.  People  would  pity 
her,  would  see  her  loss,  deride  her  wilful  folly.  Gabriel 
loved  her  as  she  desired  to  be  loved,  blindly  and  passion 
ately  ;  few  knew  of  our  later  bond,  many  of  our  betrothal, 
why  not  let  the  world  believe  me  the  rejected  party  come 
back  for  a  last  appeal  ?  I  had  avoided  all  whom  I  once 
knew,  for  I  loathed  the  place ;  no  one  had  discovered  me  at 
the  hospital,  she  thought  me  gone,  she  boldly  took  the  step, 
married  the  poor  boy,  left  Cuba  before  I  was  myself  again, 
and  won  herself  an  empty  victory  which  I  never  shall  dis 
turb." 

"  How  strange !  Yet  I  can  believe  it  of  her,  she  looked 
a  woman  who  would  dare  do  anything.  Then  you  came 
back  Adam,  to  find  me  ?  What  led  you  here,  hoping  so 
much  and  knowing  so  little  ?  " 

"  Did  you  ever  know  me  do  anything  in  the  accustomed 
way  ?  Do  I  not  always  aim  straight  at  the  thing  I  want 
and  pursue  it  by  the  shortest  road  ?  It  fails  often,  and  I 
go  back  to  the  slower  surer  way ;  but  my  own  is  always 
tried  first,  as  involuntarily  as  I  hurled  myself  down  that 
slope,  as  if  storming  a  fort  instead  of  meeting  my  sweet 
heart.  That  is  a  pretty  old  word  beloved  of  better  men 
than  I,  so  let  me  use  it  once.  Among  the  first  persons  I 
met  on  landing  was  a  friend  of  your  father's ;  he  was  just 
driving  away  in  hot  haste,  but  catching  a  glimpse  of  the 


177 


familiar  face,  I  bethought  me  that  it  was  the  season  for 
summer  travel,  you  might  be  away,  and  uo  one  else  would 
satisfy  me ;  he  might  know,  and  time  be  saved.  I  asked  one 
question,  "  Where  are  the  Yules?"  He  answered,  as  he 
vanished,  "  The  young  people  are  all  at  the  mountains." 
That  was  enough,  and  congratulating  myself  on  the  fore 
thought  which  would  save  me  some  hundred  miles  of  need 
less  delay,  away  I  went,  and  for  days  have  been  searching 
for  you  every  where  on  that  side  of  these  hills  which  I  know 
so  well.  But  no  Yules  h  d  passed,  and  feeling  sure  you 
were  on  this  side  I  came,  not  around,  but  straight  over,  for 
this  seemed  a  royal  road  to  my  love,  and  here  I  found  her 
waiting  for  me  by  the  way.  Now  Sylvia,  are  your  doubt? 
all  answered,  your  fears  all  laid,  your  heart  at  rest  on  mine  ? 

As  the  time  drew  nearer  Sylvia's  task  daunted  hei, 
Warwick  was  so  confident,  so  glad  and  tender  over  her,  it 
seemed  like  pronouncing  the  death  doom  to  say  those  hard 
words,  "  It  is  too  late."  While  she  struggled  to  find  some 
expression  that  should  tell  all  kindly  yet  entirely,  Adam, 
seeming  to  read  some  hint  of  her  trouble,  asked,  with  that 
gentleness  which  now  overlaid  his  former  abruptness,  and 
was  the  more  alluring  for  the  contrast  — 

"  Have  I  been  too  arrogant  a  lover?  too  sure  of  happi 
ness,  too  blind  to  my  small  deserts  ?  Sylvia,  have  I  mis 
understood  the  greeting  you  have  given  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Adam,  utterly." 

He  knit  his  brows,  his  eye  grew  anxious,  his  content 
seemed  rudely  broken,  but  still  hopefully  he  said  — 

"  You  mean  that  absence  has  changed  you,  that  you  do 
not  love  me  as  you  did,  and  pity  made  you  kind  ?  Well, 
I  receive  the  disappointment,  but  I  do  not  relinquish  ray 
desire.  What  has  been  may  be ;  let  me  try  again  to  earn 


178  MOODS. 

you ;  teach  me  to  be  humble,  patient,  all  that  I  should  be 
to  make  myself  more  dear  to  you.  Something  disturbs  you, 
be  frank  with  me ;  I  have  shown  you  all  my  heart,  what 
have  you  to  show  me  in  return  ?  " 

"  Only  this." 

She-freed  herself  entirely  from  his  hold  and  held  up  her 
hand  before  him.  He  did  not  see  the  ring ;  he  thought  she  I 
gave  him  all  he  asked,  and  with  a  glow  of  gratitude  extended 
both  his  own  to  take  it.  Then  she  saw  that  delay  was  worse 
than  weak,  and  though  she  trembled  she  spoke  out  bravely 
ending  his  suspense  at  once. 

"  Adam,  I  do  not  love  you  as  I  did,  nor  can  I  wish  or  try 
to  bring  it  back,  because  —  I  am  married." 

He  sprung  up  as  if  shot  through  the  heart,  nor  could  a 
veritable  bullet  from  her  hand  have  daunted  him  with  a 
more  intense  dismay  than  those  three  words.  An  instant's 
incredulity,  then  conviction  came  to  him,  and  he  met  it  like 
a  man,  for  though  his  face  whitened  and  his  eye  burned 
with  an  expression  that  wrung  her  heart,  he  demanded 
steadily,  — 

"To  whom?" 

This  was  the  hardest  question  of  all,  for  well  she  knew 
the  name  would  wound  the  deeper  for  its  dearness,  and 
while  it  lingered  pitifully  upon  her -lips  its  owner  answered 
for  himself.  Clear  and  sweet  came  up  the  music  of  the 
horn,  bringing  them  a  familiar  air  they  all  loved,  and 
had  often  sung  together.  Warwick  knew  it  instantly,  felt 
the  hard  truth  but  rebelled  against  it,  and  put  out  his  arm 
as  if  to  ward  it  off  as  he  exclaimed,  with  real  anguish  in 
countenance  and  voice  — 

"  Oh,  Sylvia !  it  is  not  Geoffrey  ?  " 

••  Yes," 


179 

Then,  as  if  all  strength  had  gone  out  of  her,  ghe  dropped 
down  upon  the  mossy  margin  of  the  spring  and  covered  up 
her  face,  feeling  -that  the  first  sharpness  of  a  pain  like  this 
was  not  for  human  eyes  to  witness.  How  many  minutes 
passed  she  could  not  tell,  the  stillness  of  the  spot  remained 
unbroken  by  any  sound  but  the  whisper  of  the  wind,  and 
in  this  silence  Sylvia  found  time  to  marvel  at  the  calmness 
which  came  to  her.  Self  had  been  forgotten  in  surprise 
and  sympathy,  and  still  her  one  thought  was  how  to  com 
fort  Warwick.  She  had  expected  some  outburst  of  feeling, 
some  gust  of  anger  or  despair,  but  neither  sigh  nor  sob, 
reproach  nor  regret  reached  her,  and  soon  she  stole  an 
anxious  glance  to  see  how  it  went  with  him.  He  was  stand 
ing  where  she  left  him,  both  hands  locked  together  till  they 
were  white  with  the  passionate  pressure.  His  eyes  fixed  on 
some  distant  object  with  a  regard  as  imploring  as  unseeing, 
and  through  those  windows  of  the  soul  he  looked  out  darkly, 
not  despairingly  ;  but  as  if  sure  that  somewhere  there  was 
help  for  him,  and  he  waited  for  it  with  a  stern  patience 
more  terrible  to  watch  than  the  most  tempestuous  grief. 
Sylvia  could  not  bear  it,  and  remembering  that  her  con 
fession  had  not  yet  been  made,  seized  that  instant  for  the 
purpose,  prompted  by  an  instinct  which  assured  her  that  the 
knowledge  of  W  pain  would  help  him  to  bear- his  own. 

She  told  him  all,  and  ended  saying  — 

"  Now,  Adam,  come  to  me  and  let  me  try  to  comfort 
you." 

Sylvia  was  right ;  for  through  the  sorrowful  bewilderment 
that  brought  a  brief  eclipse  of  hope  and  courage,  sympathy 
reached  him  like  a  friendly  hand  to  uphold  him  till  he 
found  the  light  again.  While  speaking,  she  had  seen  the 
immobility  that  frightened  her  break  up,  and  Warwick's 


1 80  MOODS. 

whole  face  flush  and  quiver  with  the  rush  of  emotions 
controllable  no  longer.  But  the  demonstration  which  fol 
lowed  was  one  she  had  never  thought  to  see  from  him,  for 
when  she  stretched  her  hands  to  him  with  that  tender  invi 
tation,  she  saw  the  deep  eyes  fill  and  overflow.  Then  he 
threw  himself  down  before  her,  and  for  the  first  time  in  her 
short  life  showed  her  that  sad  type  of  human  suffering,  a 
man  weeping  like  a  woman. 

Warwick  was  one  of  those  whose  passions,  as  his  virtues, 
were  in  unison  with  the  powerful  body  they  inhabited,  and 
in  such  a  crisis  as  the  present  but  one  of  two  reliefs  were 
possible  to  him ;  either  wrathful  denunciation,  expostulation 
and  despair,  or  the  abandon  of  a  child.  Against  the  former 
he  had  been  struggling  dumbly  till  Sylvia's  words  had 
turned  the  tide,  and  too  entirely  natural  to  feel  a  touch  of 
shame  at  that  which  is  not  a  weakness  but  a  strength/ 
too  wise  to  reject  so  safe  an  outlet  for  so  dangerous  a  grief, 
he  yielded  to  it,  letting  the  merciful  magic  of  tears  quench 
the  fire,  wash  the  first  bitterness  away,  and  leave  reproaches 
only  writ  in  water.  It  was  better  so,  and  Sylvia  acknowl 
edged  it  within  herself  as  she  sat  mute  and  motionless, 
softly  touching  the  brown  hair  scattered  on  the  moss,  her 
poor  consolation  silenced  by  the  pathos  of  the  sight,  while 
through  it  all  rose  and  fell  the  fitful  echo  of  the  horn,  in 
very  truth  "  a  sweet  reminder  not  to  stray  away  and  lose 
herself."  An  hour  ago  it  would  have  been  a  welcome  sound, 
for  peak /after  peak  gave  back  the  strain,  and  airy  voices 
whispered  it  until  the  faintest  murmur  died.  But  now  she 
let  it  soar  and  sigh  half  heard,  for  audible  to  her  alone  still 
came  its  sad  accompaniment  of  bitter  human  tears.  To 
Warwick  it  was  far  more  ;  for  music,  the  comforter,  laid  her 
balm  on  his  sore  heart  as  no  mortal  pity  could  have  done, 


SYLVIA'S  HONEYMOON.  181 

and  wrought  the  miracle  which  changed  the  friend  who 
seemed  to  have  robbed  him  of  his  love  to  an  unconscious 
Orpheus,  who  subdued  the  savage  and  harmonized  the  man. 
Soon  he  was  himself  again,  for  to  those  who  harbor  the 
strong  virtues  with  patient  zeal,  no  lasting  ill  can  come, 
no  affliction  can  wholly  crush,  no  temptation  wholly  van 
quish.  He  rose  with  eyes  the  clearer  for  their  stormy  rain, 
twice  a  man  for  having  dared  to  be  a  child  again.  Humbler 
and  happier  for  the  knowledge  that  neither  vain  resentment 
nor  unjust  accusation  had  defrauded  of  its  dignity,  the 
heavy  hour  that  left  him  desolate  but  not  degraded. 

"  I  am  comforted,  Sylvia,  rest  assured  of  that.  And 
now  there  is  little  more  to  say,  but  one  thing  to  do.  I 
shall  not  see  your  husband  yet,  and  leave  you  to  tell  him 
what  seems  best,  for,  with  the  instinct  of  an  animal,  I 
always  go  away  to  outlive  my  hurts  alone.  But  remember 
that  I  acquit  you  of  blame,  and  believe  that  I  will  yet  be 
happy  in  your  happiness.  I  know  if  Geoffrey  were  here,  he 
would  let  me  do  this,  because  he  has  suffered  as  I  suffer 
now." 

Bending,  he  gathered  her  to  an  embrace  as  different  from 
that  other  as  despair  is  from  delight,  and  while  he  held  her 
there,  crowding  into  one  short  minute,  all  the  pain  and  pas 
sion  of  a  year,  she  heard  a  low,  but  exceeding  bitter 
cry  —  "Oh,  my  Sylvia!  it  is  hard  to  give  you  up." 
Then*  with  a  solemn  satisfaction,  which  assured  her  as  it 
did  himself,  he  spoke  out  clear  and  loud  — 

"  Thank  God  for  the  merciful  Hereafter,  in  which  we 
may  retrieve  the  blunders  we  make  here." 

With  that  he  left  her,  never  turning  till  the  burden  so 
joj'fully  cast  down  had  been  resumed.  Then,  staff  and  hat 
in  hand,  he  paused  on  the  margin  of  that  granite  cup,  in 
16 


182  MOODS. 

him  a  cup  of  sorrow,  and  looked  into  its  depths  again. 
Clouds  were  trooping  eastward,  but  in  that  pause  the  sun 
glanced  full  on  Warwick's  figure,  lifting  his  powerful 
head  into  a  flood  of  light,  as  he  waved  his  hand  to  Sylvia 
with  a  gesture  of  courage  and  good  cheer.  The  look,  the 
act,  the  memories  they  brought  her,  made  her  heart  ache 
with  a  sharper  pang  than  pity,  and  filled  her  eyes  with  tears 
of  impotent  regret,  as  she  turned  her  head  as  if  to  chide 
the  blithe  clamor  of  the  horn.  When  she  looked  again,  the 
figure  and  the  sunshine  were  both  gone,  leaving  her  alone 
and  in  the  shadow. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A  FIRESIDE    FETE. 

"  No  cousin  Faith  to-night.  The  rain  has  prevented  her 
from  taking  this  boa't,  and  she  is  not  likely  to  come  later  as 
she  comes  alone,"  said  Moor,  returning  from  a  fruitless 
drive  to  meet  his  expected  guest  one  October  evening. 

"  It  always  rains  when  I  want  anything  very  much.  I 
seem  to  have  a  great  deal  of  bad  weather  in  my  life,"  an 
swered  Sylvia,  despondingly.  , 

"  Never  mind  the  rain ;  let  us  make  sunshine  for  our 
selves,  and  forget  it  as  children  do." 

"  I  wish  I  was  a  child  again,  they  are  always  happy." 

"  Let  us  play  at  being  children,  then.  Let  us  sit  down 
upon  the  rug,  parch  corn,  crack  nuts,  roast  apples,  and  be 
merry  in  spite  of  wind  or  weather." 

Sylvia's  face  brightened,  for  the  fancy  pleased  her,  and 
she  wanted  something  new  and  pleasant  to  divert  her 
thoughts  from  herself.  Glancing  at  her  dress,  which  was 
unusually  matronly  in  honor  of  the  occasion,  she  said  smil 
ing — 

"  I  don't  look  much  like  a  child,  but  I  should  like  to  try 
and  feel  like  one  again  if  I  can." 

"  Letjis  both  look  and  feel  so  as  much  as  possible.  You 
like  masquerading ;  go  make  a  little  girl  of  yourself,  while  I 
turn  boy,  and  prepare  for  our  merry  making. 


184  MOODS. 

No  lad  could  have  spoken  with  a  blither  face,  for  Moor 
had  preserved  much  of  the  boy  in  spite  of  his  thirty  years. 
His  cheerfulness  was  so  infectious,  that  Sylvia  already  be 
gan  to  forget  her  gloom,  and  hurried  away  to  do  her  part. 
Putting  on  a  short,  girlish  gown,  kept  for  scrambles  among 
the  rocks,  she  improvised  a  pinafore,  and  braided  her  long 
hair  a  la  Morlena  Kenwigs,  with  butterfly  bows  at  the  ends. 
When  she  went  down,  she  found  her  husband  in  garden 
jacket,  collar  turned  over  a  ribbon,  hair  in  a  curly  tumble, 
and  jackknife  in  hand,  seated  on  the  rug  before  a  roaring 
fire,  and  a  semicircle  of  apples,  whittling  and  whistling 
like  a  very  boy.  They  examined  one  another  with  mirth 
ful  commendations,  and  Moor  began  his  part  by  saying  — 

"Is n't  this  jolly?  Now  come  and  cuddle  down  here 
beside  me,  and  see  which  will  keep  it  up  the  longest." 

"  What  would  Prue  say  ?  and  who  would  recognize  the 
elegant  Mr.  Moor  in  this  big  boy  ?  Putting  dignity  and 
broadcloth  aside  makes  jou  look  about  eighteen,  and  very 
charming  I  find  you,"  said  Sylvia,  looking  about  twelve 
herself,  and  also  very  charming. 

"  Here  is  a  wooden  fork  for  you  to  tend  the  roast  with, 
while  I  see  to  the  corn  laws  and  prepare  a  vegetable  snow 
storm.  What  will  you  have,  little  girl,  you  look  as  if  you 
wanted  something  ?  " 

"  I  was  only  thinking  that  I  should  have  a  doll  to  match 
your  knife.  I  feel  as  if  I  should  enjoy  trotting  a  staring 
fright  on  my  knee,  and  singing  Hush-a-by.  But  I  fancy 
even  your  magic  cannot  produce  such  a  thing,  —  can  it,  my 
lad?" 

•'In  exactly  five  minutes  a  lovely  doll  will  appear, 
though  such  a  thing  has  not  been  seen  in  my  bachelor  estab 
lishment  for  years." 


-A    FIRESIDE    FETE.  185 

With  which  mysterious  announcement  Moor  ran  off,  blun 
dering  over  the  ottomans  and  slamming  the  doors  as  a  true 
boy  should.  Sylvia  pricked  chestnuts,  and  began  to  forget 
her  bosom  trouble  as  she  wondered  what  would  appear  with 
the  impatient  curiosity  appropriate  to  the  character  she  had 
assumed.  Presently  her  husband  reappeared  with  much 
brceziness  of  aspect,  rain  drops  in  his  hair,  and  a  squirm 
ing  bundle  in  his  arms.  Triumphantly  unfolding  many 
wraps,  he  displayed  little  Tilly  in  her  night-gown. 

"  There  is  sorcery  for  you,  and  a  doll  worth  having  ;  being 
one  of  the  sort  that  can  shut  its  eyes  ;  it  was  going  to  bed, 
but  its  mamma  relented  and  lends  it  to  us  for  the  night. 
I  told  Mrs.  Dodd  you  wanted  her,  and  could  n't  wait,  so  she 
sent  her  clothes  ;  but  the  room  is  so  warm  let  the  dear  play 
in  her  pretty  bed-gown." 

Sylvia  received  her  lovely  plaything  with  enthusiasm, 
and  Tilly  felt  herself  suddenly  transported  to  a  baby's  Para 
dise,  where  beds  were  unknown  and  fruit  and  freedom  were 
her  welcome  portion.  Merrily  popped  the  corn,  nimbly 
danced  the  nuts  upon  the  shovel,  lustily  remonstrated  the 
rosy  martyrs  on  the  hearth,  and  cheerfully  the  minutes 
slipped  away.  Sylvia  sung  every  jubilant  air  she  knew, 
Moor  whistled  astonishing  accompaniments,  and  Tilly  danced 
over  the  carpet  with  nut-shells  on  her  toes,  and  tried  to  fill 
her  Uttle  gown  with  "  pitty  flowers  "  from  its  garlands  and 
bouquets.  Without  the  wind  lamented,  the  sky  wept,  and 
the  sea  thundered  on  the  shore  ;  but  within,  youth,  inno 
cence,  and  love  held  their  blithe  revel  undisturbed. 

"  How  are  the  spirits  now  ?  "  asked  one  playmate  of  the 
other. 

"Quite  merry,  thank  you;   and  I  should  think  I  was 
little  Sylvia  again  but  for  the  sight  of  this." 
160 


18(5  MOODS. 

•  She  held  up  the  hand  that  wore  a  single  ornament ;  but 
the  hand  had  grown  so  slender  since  it  was  first  put  on,  that 

*  the  ring  would  have  fallen  had  she  not  caught  it  at  her 
finger-tip.     There  was  nothing  of  the  boy  in  her  compa 
nion's  face,  as  he  said,  with  an  anxious  look  — 

"  If  you  go  on  thinning  so  fast  I  shall  begin  to  fear  that 
the  little  wife  is  not  happy  with  her  old  husband.  Is  she, 
dear?" 

"  She  would  be  a  most  ungrateful  woman  if  she  were  not. 
I  always  get  thin  as  winter  comes  on,  but  I'm  so  careless 
I'll  find  a,  guard  for  my  ring  to-morrow." 

"  No  need  to  wait  till  then;  wear  this  to  please  me,  and 
let  Marion's  cipher  signify  that  you  are  mine." 

With  a  gravity  that  touched  her  more  than  the  bestowal 
of  so  dear  a  relic,  Moor  unslung  a  signet  ring  from  his 
watchguard,  and  with  some  difficulty  pressed  it  to  its 
place  on  Sylvia's  finger,  a  most  effectual  keeper  for  that 
other  ring  whose  tenure  seemed  so  slight  She  shrunk  a 
.  little  and  glanced  up  at  him,  because  his  touch  was  more 
firm  than  tender,  and  his  face  wore  a  masterful  expression 
seldom  seen  there ;  for  instinct,  subtler  than  perception, 
prompted  both  act  and  aspect.  Then  her  eye  fell  and  fixed 
upon  the  dark  stone  with  the  single  letter  engraved  upon 
its- tiny  oval,  and  to  her  it  took  a  double  significance  as  her 
husband  held  it  there,  claiming  her  again,  with  that  em 
phatic  "  Mine."  She  did  not  speak,  but  something  in  her 
manner  caused  the  fold  between  his  brows  to  smooth  itself 
away  as  he  regarded  the  small  hand  lying  passively  in  his, 
and  said,  half  playfully,  half  earnestly  — • 

*'  Forgive  me  if  I  hurt  you,  but  you  know  my  wooing  is 
not  over  yet ;  and  till  you  love  me  with  a  perfect  love  I  can. 
not  feel  that  my  wife  is  wholly  mine." 


A   FIRESIDE    FETE.  187 

"  I  am  so  young,  you  know ;  when  I  am  a  woman  grown 
I  can  give  you  a  woman's  love  ;  now  it  is  a  girl's,  you  say. 
Wait  for  me,  Geoffrey,  a  little  longer,  for  indeed  I  do  my 
best  to  be  all  you  would  have  me." 

Something  brought  tears  into  her  eyes  and  made  her  lips 
tremble,  but  in  a  breath  the  smile  came  back,  and  she  added 

gayly  — 

"  How  can  I  help  being  grave  sometimes,  and  getting 
thin,  with  so  many  housekeeping  cares  upon  my  shoulders, 
and  such  an  exacting,  tyrannical  husband  to  wear  upon  my 
nerves.  Don't  I  look  like  the  most  miserable  of  wives  ?  " 

She  did  not  certainly  as  she  shook  the  popper  laughingly, 
and  looked  over  her  shoulder  at  him,  with  the  bloom  of  fire 
light  on  her  cheeks,  its  cheerfulness  in  her  eyes. 

"Keep  that  expression  for  every  day  wear,  and  I  am 
satisfied.  I  want  no  tame  Griselda,  but  the  little  girl  who 
once  said  she  was  always  happy  with  me.  Assure  me  of 
that,  and,  having  won  my  Leah,  I  can  work  and  wait  still 
longer  for  my  Rachel.  Bless  the  baby !  what  has  she  done 
to  herself  now  ?  " 

Tilly  had  retired  behind  the  sofa,  after  she  had. swarmed 
over  every  chair  and  couch,  examined  everything  within  her 
reach,  on  etagere  and  table,  embraced  the  Hebe  in  the  cor 
ner,  played  a  fantasia  on  the  piano,  and  choked  herself  with 
the  stopper  of  the  odor  bottle.  A  doleful  wail  betrayed 
her  hiding-place,  and  she  now  emerged  with  a  pair  of  nut 
crackers,  ditto  of  pinched  fingers,  and  an  expression  of 
great  mental  and  bodily  distress.  Her  woes  vanished  in 
stantaneously,  however,  when  the  feast  was  announced,  and 
she  performed  an  unsteady  pas  seul  about  the  banquet, 
varied  by  skirmishes  with  her  long  night-gown  and  darts  at 
any  unguarded  viand  that  tempted  her. 


188  MOODS. 

No  ordinary  table  service  would  suit  the  holders  of  this 
fireside  fete.  The  corn  was  heaped  in  a  bronze  urn,  the 
nuts  in  a  graceful  basket,  the  apples  lay  on  a  plate  of  curi 
ously  ancient  china,  and  the  water  turned  to  wine  through 
the  medium  of  a  purple  flagon  of  Bohemian  glass.  The 
refection  was  spread  upon  the  rug  as  on  a  flowery  table,  and 
all  the  lustres  were  lighted,  filling  %  the  room  with  a  festal 
glow.  Prue  would  have  held  up  her  hands  in  dismay,  like 
the  benighted  piece  of  excellence  she  was,  but  Mark  would 
have  enjoyed  the  picturesque  group  and  sketched  a  mate  to 
the  Golden  Wedding.  For  Moor,  armed  with  the  wooden 
fork,  did  the  honors ;  Sylvia,  leaning  on  her  arm,  dropped 
corn  after  corn  into  a  baby  mouth  that  bird-like  always 
gaped  for  more  ;  and  Tilly  lay  luxuriously  between  them, 
warming  her  little  feet  as  she  ate  and  babbled  to  the  flames. 

The  clock  was  on  the  stroke  of  eight,  the  revel  at  its 
height,  when  the  door  opened  and  a  servant  announced  — 

"  Miss  Dane  and  Mr.  Warwick." 

An  impressive  pause  followed,  broken  by  a  crow  from 
Tilly,  who  seized  this  propitious  moment  to  bury  one  hand 
in  the  nuts  and  with  the  other  capture  the  big  red  apple 
which  had  been  denied  her.  The  sound  seemed  to  dissi 
pate  the  blank  surprise  that  had  fallen  on  all  parties,  ami 
brought  both  host  and  hostess  to  their  feet,  the  former  ex 
claiming,  heartily  — 

"  Welcome,  friends,  to  a  modern  saturnalia  and  the  bosom 
of  the  Happy  Family  ! " 

"  I  fear  you  did  not  expect  me  so  late,"  said  Miss  Dane. 
"  I  was  detained  at  the  time  fixed  upon  and  gave  it  up,  but 
Mr.  Warwick  came,  and  we  set  off  together.  Pray  don't 
disturb  yourselves,  but  let  us  enjoy  the  game  with  you." 

"  You  and  Adam  are  guests  who  never  come  too  early  or 


A   FIKESIDE   FETE.  189 

too  late.  We  are  playing  children  to-night,  so  just  put 
yourselves  back  a  dozen  years  and  let  us  all  be  merry  to 
gether.  Sylvia,  this  our  cousin,  Faith  here  is  your  new 
kinswoman.  Please  love  one  another  as  little  people  are 
commanded  to  do." 

A  short  stir  ensued  while  hands  were  shaken,  wraps  put 
off,  and  some  degree  of  order  restored  to  the  room,  then 
they  all  sat  down  and  began  to  talk.  With  well  bred  ob 
livion  of  the  short  gown  and  long  braids  of  her  bashful- 
looking  hostess,  Miss  Dane  suggested  and  discussed  various 
subjects  of  mutual  interest,  while  Sylvia  tried  to  keep  her 
eyes  from  wandering  to  the  mirror  opposite,  which  reflected 
the  figures  of  her  husband  and  his  friend. 

Warwick  sat  erect  in  the  easy-chair,  for  he  never  lounged  ; 
and  Moor,  still  supporting  his  character,  was  perched  upon 
the  arm,  talking  with  boyish  vivacity.  Every  sejise  being 
unwontedly  alert,  Sylvia  found  herself  listening  to  both 
guests  at  once,  and  bearing  her  own  part  in  one  conversa 
tion  so  well  that  occasional  lapses  were  only  attributed  to 
natural  embarrassment.  What  she  and  Miss  Dane  said  she 
never  remembered  ;  what  the  other  pair  talked  of  she  never 
forgot.  The  first  words  she  caught  were  her  husband's. 

"  You  see  I  have  begun  to  live  for  myself,  Adam." 

"  I  also  see  that  it  agrees  with  you  excellently." 

"  Better  than  with  you,  for  you  are  not  looking  like  your 
old  self,  though  June  made  you  happy,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  If  freedom  is  happiness  it  did." 

"  Are  you  still  alone  ?  " 

"  More  so  than  ever." 

Sylvia  lost  the  next  words,  for  a  look  showed  her  Moor*s 
hand  on  Adam's  shoulder,  and  that  for  the  first  time  within 
her  memory  Warwick  did  not  meet  his  friend's  glance  with 


190  MOODS. 

one  as  open,  but  .bent  his  eyes  upon  the  ground,  while  his 
hand  went  to  and  fro  across  his  lips  as  if  to  steady  them. 
It  was  a  gesture  she  remembered  well,  for  though  self-control 
could  keep  the  eye  clear,  the  voice  firm,  that  half-hidden 
mo'uth  of  his  sometimes  rebelled  and  grew  tremulous  as  a 
woman's.  The  sight  and  the  answer  set  her  heart  beating 
with  the  thought,  "  Why  has  he  come  ?  "  The  repetition 
of  a  question  by  Miss  Dane  recalled  her  from  a  dangerous 
memory,  and  when  that  friendly  lady  entered  upon  another 
long  sentence  to  relieve  her  young  hostess,  she  heard  Moor 
say  — 

"  You  have  had  too  much  solitude,  Adam ;  I  am  sure  of 
it,  for  no  man  can  live  long  alone  and  not  get  the  uncanny 
look  you  have.  What  have  you  been  at  ?  " 

"  Fighjing  the  old  fight  with  this  unruly  self  of  mine, 
and  getting  ready  for  another  tussle  with  the  Adversary,  in 
whatever  shape  he  may  appear." 

"  And  now  you  are  come  to  your  friend  for  the  social 
solace  which  the  haughtiest  heart  hungers  for  when  most 
alone.  You  shall  have  it.  Stay  with  us,  Adam,  and  re 
member  that  whatever  changes  come  to  me  my  home  is 
always  yours." 

"  I  know  it,  Geoffrey.  I  wanted  to  see  your  happiness 
before  I.  go  away  again,  and  should  like  to  stay  with 
you  a  day  or  so  if  you  are  sure  that  —  that  she  would 
like  it." 

Moor  laughed  and  pulled  a  lock  of  the  'brown  mane,  as 
if  to  tease  the  lion  into  a  display  of  the  spirit  he  seemed 
to  have  lost. 

"  How  shy  you  are-of  speaking  the  new  name  !  '  She' 
will  like  it,"  I  assure  you,  for  she  makes  my  friends  hers. 
Sylvia,  come  here,  and  tell  Adam  he  is  welcome;  he  dares 


A    FIRESIDE    FETE.  191 

to  doubt  it.     Come  and  talk  over  old  times,  while  I  do  the 
same  with  Faith." 

She  went,  trembling  inwardly,  but  outwardly  composed, 
for  she  took  refuge  in  one  of  those  commonplace  acts  which 
to.  such  moments  we  gladly  perform,  and  bless  in  our  secret 
souls.  She  had  often  wondered  where  they  would  next 
meet,  and  how  she  should  comport  herself  at  such  a  trying 
time.  She  had  never  imagined  that  he  would  come  in  this 
way,  or  that  a  hearth-brush  would  save  her  from  the' 
betrayal  of  emotion.  So  it  was,  however,  and  an  invol 
untary  smile  passed  over  her  face  as  she  managed  to  say 
quite  naturally,  while  brushing  the  nutshells  tidily  out  of 
sight  — 

"  You  know  you  are  always  welcome,  Mr.  Warwick 
'  Adam's  Eoom,'  as  we  call  it,  is  always  ready,  and 
Geoffrey  was  wishing  for  you  only  yesterday." 

"  I  am  sure  of  his  satisfaction  at  my  coming,  can  I  be 
equally  sure  of  yours.  May  I,  ought  I  to  stay  ?  " 

He  leaned  forward  as  he  spoke,  with  an  eager  yet  sub 
missive  look,  that  Sylvia  dared  not  meet,  and  in  her  anxiety 
to  preserve  her  self-possession,  she  forgot  that  to  this  listener 
every  uttered  word  became  a  truth,  because  his  own  were 
always  so. 

"  Why  not,  if  you  can  bear  our  quiet  life,  for  we  are 
a  Darby  and  Joan  already,  though  we  do  not  look  so  to 
night,  I  acknowledge." 

Men  seldom  understand  the  subterfuges  women  instinc 
tively  use  to  conceal  many  a  natural  emotion  which  they  are 
not  strong  enough  to  control,  not  brave  enough  to  confess. 
To  Warwick,  Sylvia  seemed  almost  careless,  her  words  a 
frivolous  answer  to  the  real  meaning  of  his  question,  her 
smile  one  of  tranquil  welcome.  Her  manner  wrought  an 


192  MOODS. 

instant  change  in  him,  and  when  he  spoke  again  he  was  the 
Warwick  of  a  year  ago. 

"  I  hesitated,  Mrs.  Moor,  because  I  have  sometimes  heard 
young  wives  complain  that  their  husbands'  friends  were 
marplots,  and  I  have  no  desire  to  be  one." 

This  speech,  delivered  with  frosty  gravity,  made  Sylvia 
as  cool  and  quiet  as  itself.  She  put  her  ally  down,  locked 
full  at  Warwick,  and  said  with  a  blending  of  dignity  and 
cordiality  which  even  the  pinafore  could  not  destroy  — 

"  Please  to  consider  yourself  a  specially  invited  guest, 
now  and  always.  Never  hesitate,  but  come  and  go  as  freely 
as  you  used  to  do,  for  nothing  need  be  changed  between  us 
three  because  two  of  us  have  one  home  to  offer  you." 

"  Thanks;  and  now  that  the  hearth  is  scrupulously  clean 
may  I  offer  you  a  chair?  " 

The  old  keenness  was  in  his  eye,  the  old  firmness  about 
the  mouth,  the  old  satirical  smile  on  his  lips  as  Warwick 
presented  the  seat,  with  an  inclination  that  to  her  seemed 
ironical.  She  sat  down,  but  when  she  cast  about  her  mind 
for  some  safe  and  easy  topic  to  introduce,  every  idea  had 
fled  ;  even  memory  and  fancy  turned  traitors ;  not  a  lively 
sally  could  be  found,  not  a  pleasant  remembrance  returned 
to  help  her,  and  she  sat  dumb.  Before  the  dreadful  pause 
grew  awkward,  however,  rescue  came  in  the  form  of  Tilly. 
Nothing  daunted  by  the  severe  simplicity  of  her  attire  she 
planted  herself  before  Warwick,  and  shaking  her  hair  out 
of  her  eyes  stared  at  him  with  an  inquiring  glance  and 
cheeks  as  red  as  her  apple.  She  seemed  satisfied  in  a 
moment,  and  climbing  to  his  knee  established  herself  there, 
coolly  taking  possession  of  his  watch,  and  examining  the 
brown  beard  curiously  as  it  parted  with  the  white  flash  of 
teeth,  when  Warwick  smiled  his  warmest  smile. 


A   FIRESIDE    FETE.  193 

"  This  recalls  the  night  you  fed  the  sparrow  in  your 
hand.  Do  you  remember,  Adam  ?  "  and  Sylvia  looked  and 
spoke  like  her  old  self  again. 

"  I  seldom  forget  anything.  But  pleasant  as  that  hour 
was  this  is  more  to  me,  for  the  bird  flew  away,  the  baby 
stays  and  gives  me  what  I  need." 

He  wrapt  the  child  closer  in  his  arms,  leaned  his  dark 
head  on  the  bright  one,  and  took  the  little  feet  into  his 
hand  with  a  fatherly  look  that  caused  Tilly  to  pat  his 
cheek  and  begin  an  animated  recital  of  some  nursery 
legend,  which  ended  in  a  sudden  gape,  reminding  Sylvia 
that  one  of  her  guests  was  keeping  late  hours. 

"  What  comes  next  ?  "  asked  Warwick. 

"  Now  I  lay  me  and  byelow  in  the  trib,"  answered  Tilly, 
stretching  herself  over  his  arm  with  a  great  yawn. 

Warwick  kissed  the  rosy  half- open  mouth  and  seemed 
loth  to  part  with  the  pious  baby,  for  he  took  the  shawl 
Sylvia  brought  and  did  up  the  drowsy  bundle  himself. 
While  so  busied  she  stole  a  furtive  glance  at  him,  having 
looked  without  seeing  before.  Thinner  and  browner,  but 
stronger  than  ever  was  the  familiar  face  she  saw,  yet 
neither  sad  nor  stern,  for  the  grave  gentleness  which  had 
been  a  fugitive  expression  before  now  seemed  habitual. 
This,  with  the  hand  at  the  lips  and  the  slow  dropping  of 
the  eyes,  were  the  only  tokens  of  the  sharp  experience  he 
had  been  passing  through.  Born  for  conflict  and  endur 
ance,  he  seemed  to  have  manfully  accepted  the  sweet  uses 
of  adversity  and  grown  the  richer  for  his  loss. 

Those  who  themselves  are  quick  to  suffer,  are  also  quick 

to  see  the  marks  of  suffering  in  others ;  that  hasty  scrutiny 

assured  Sylvia  of  all  she  had  yearned  to  know,  yet  wrung 

her  heart  with  a  pity  the  deeper  for  its  impotence.     Tilly's 

17 


11)4  MOODS. 

heavy  head  drooped  between  her  bearer  and  the  light  as 
they  left  the  room,  but  in  the  dusky  hall  a  few  hot  tears 
fell  on  the  baby's  hair,  and  her  new  nurse  lingered  long 
after  the  lullaby  was  done.  When  she  reappeared  the 
girlish  dress  was  gone,  and  she  was  Madam  Moor  again,  as 
her  husband  called  her  when  she  assumed  her  stately  air. 
All  smiled  at  the  change,  but  he  alone  spoke  of  it. 

"  I  win  the  applause,  Sylvia  ;  for  I  sustain  my  character 
to  the  end,  while  you  give  up  before  the  curtain  falls.  You 
are  not  so  good  an  actress  as  I  thought  you." 

Sylvia's  smile  was  sadder  than  her  tears  as  she  briefly 
answered  — 

"  No,  I  find  I  cannot  be  a  child  again." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

EARLY   AND  LATE. 

ONE  of  Sylvia's  first  acts  when  she  rose  was  most  sig 
nificant.  She  shook  down  her  abundant  hair,  carefully 
arranged  a  part  in  thick  curls  over  cheeks  and  forehead, 
gathered  the  rest  into  its  usual  coil,  and  said  to  herself,  as 
she  surveyed  her  face  half  hidden  in  the  shining  cloud  — 

"  It  looks  very  sentimental,  and  I  hate  the  weakness  that 
drives  me  to  it,  but  it  must  be  done,  because  my  face  is  such 
a  traitor.  Poor  Geoffrey !  he  said  I  was  no  actress ;  I  am 
learning  fast."  , 

Why  every  faculty  seemed  sharpened,  every  object  as 
sumed  an  unwonted  interest,  and  that  quiet  hour  possessed 
an  excitement  that  made  her  own  room  and  countenance 
look  strange  to  her,  she  would  not  ask  herself,  as  she  paused 
on  the  threshold  of  the  door  to  ascertain  if  her  guests  were 
stirring.  Nothing  was  heard  but  the  sound  of  regular  foot 
falls  on  the  walk  before  the  door,  and  with  an  expression  of 
relief  she  slowly  went  down.  Moor  was  taking  his  morning 
walk  bareheaded  in  the  sun.  Usually  Sylvia  ran  to  join 
him,  but  now  she  stood  musing  on  the  steps,  until*he  saw 
and  came  to  her.  As  he  offered  the  flower  always  ready 
for  her,  he  said  smiling  — 

"  Did  the  play  last  night  so  captivate  you,  that  you  go 
back  to  the  curls,  because  you  cannot  keep  the  braids  ?  " 


196  MOODS. 

"A  sillier  whim  than  that,  even.  I  am  afraid  of  those 
two  people ;  and  as  I  am  so  quick  to  show  my  feelings  in 
my  face,  I  intend  to  hide  behind  this  veil  if  I  get  shy  or 
troubled.  Did  you  think  I  could  be  so  artful  ?  " 

"  Your  craft  amazes  me.  But,  dearest  child,  you  need 
not  be  afraid  of  Faith  and  Adam.  Both  already  love  you 
for  my  sake,  and  soon  will  for  your  own.  Both  are  so  much 
older,  that  they  can  easily  overlook  any  little  short-coming, 
in  consideration  of  your  youth.  Sylvia,  I  want  to  tell  you 
something  about  Adam.  I  never  spoke  of  it  before,  be 
cause,  although  no  promise  of  silence  was  asked  or  given, 
I  knew  he  considered  it  a  confidence.  Now  that  it  is  all 
over,  I  know  that  I  may  tell  my  wife,  and  she  will  help  me 
comfort  him." 

"  Tell  on,  Geoffrey,  I  hear  you." 

"  Well,  dear,  when  we  went  gypsying  long  ago,  on  the 
night  you  and  Adam  lost  the  boat,  as  I  sat  drying  your 
boots,  and  privately  adoring  them  in  spite  of  the  mud,  I 
made  a  discovery.  Adam  loved,  was  on  some  sort  of  proba 
tion,  and  would  be  married  in  June.  He  was  slow  to  speak 
of  it,  but  I  understood,  and  last  night  when  I  went  to  his 
room  with  him,  I  asked  how  he  had  fared.  Sylvia,  it  would 
have  made  your  heart  ache  to  have  seen  his  face,  as  he  said 
in  that  brief  way  of  his —  "  Geoffrey,  the  woman  I  loved  is 
married,  ask  me  nothing  more."  I  never  shall;  but  I  know, 
by  the  change  I  see  in  him,  that  the  love  was  very  dear,  the 
wound  very  deep." 

"  Poor  Adam !  how  can  we  help  him  ?  " 

"Let  him  do  as  he  likes.  I  will  take  him  to  his  old 
haunts,  and  busy  him  with  my  affairs  till  he  forgets  hia 
own.  In  the  evenings  we  will  have  Prue,  Mark,  and  Jessie 
over  here,  will  surround  him  with  social  influences,  and 


EARLY    AND    LATE.  197 

make  the  last  hours  of  the  day  the  cheerfullest ;  then  he 
wont  lie  awake  and  think  all  night,  as  I  suspect  he  has  been 
doing  of  late.  Sylvia,  I  should  like  to  see  that  woman ; 
though  I  could  find  it  in  my  heart  to  hate  her  for  her  per 
fidy  to  such  a  man." 

Sylvia's  head  was  bent  as  if  to  inhale  the  sweetness  of 
the  flower  she  held,  and  all  her  husband  saw  was  the  bright 
hair  blowing  in  the  wind. 

"  I  pity  her  for  her  loss  as  well  as  hate  her.  Now,  let 
us  talk  of  something  else,  or  my  tell-tale  face  will  betray 
that  we  have  been  talking  of  him,  when  we  meet  Adam." 

They  did  so,  and  when  Warwick  put  up  his  curtain,  the 
first  sight  he  saw,  was  his  friend  walking  with  his  young 
wife  under  the  red-leaved  maples,  in  the  sunshine.  The 
look  Moor  had  spoken  of,  came  into  his  eyes,  darkening 
them  with  the  shadow  of  despair.  A  moment  it  gloomed 
there,  then  passed,  for  Honor  said  reproachfully  to  Love  — 
"  They  are  happy,  should  not  that  content  you  ?" 

"  It  shall !  "  answered  the  master  of  both,  as  he  dropped 
the  curtain  and  turned  away. 

In  pursuance  of  his  kindly  plan,  Moor  took  Adam  out 
for  a  long  tramp  soon  after  breakfast,  and  Sylvia  and  Miss 
Dane  sat  down  to  sew.  In  the  absence  of  the  greater  fear, 
Sylvia  soon  forgot  the  lesser  one,  and  began  to  feel  at  ease, 
to  study  her  new  relative  and  covet  her  esteem. 

Faith  was  past  thirty,  shapely  and  tall,  with  much  natur 
al  dignity  of  carriage,  and  a  face  never  beautiful,  but  al 
ways  singularly  attractive  from  its  mild  and  earnest 
character.  Looking  at  her,  one  felt  assured  that  here  was 
a  right  womanly  woman,  gentle,  just,  and  true ;  possessed  of 
a  well-balanced  mind,  a  self-reliant  soul,  and  that  fine  gift 
which  is  so  rare,  the  power  of  acting  as  a  touchstone  to  all 
170 


108  MOODS. 

who  approached,  forcing  them  to  rise  or  fall  to  their  true 
level,  unconscious  of  the  test  applied.  Her  presence  was 
comfortable,  her  voice  had  motherly  tones  in  it,  her  eyes  a 
helpful  look.  Even  the  soft  hue  of  her  dress,  the  brown 
gloss  of  her  hair,  the  graceful  industry  of  her  hands,  had 
their  attractive  influence.  Sylvia  saw  and  felt  these  things 
•with  •  the  quickness  of  her  susceptible  temperament,  and 
found  herself  so  warmed  and  won,  that  soon  it  cost  her  an 
effort  to  withhold  anything  that  tried  or  troubled  her,  for 
Faith  was  a  born  consoler,  and  Sylvia's  heart  was  full. 

However  gloomy  her  day  might  have  been  she  always 
brightened  in  the  evening  as  naturally  as  moths  begin  to 
flutter  when  candles  come.  On  the  evening  of  this  day  the 
friendly  atmosphere  about  her,  and  the  excitement  of  War 
wick's  presence  so  affected  her,  that  though  the  gayety  of 
girlhood  was  quite  gone  she  looked  as  softly  brilliant  as 
some  late  flower  that  has  gathered  the  summer  to  itself 
and  gives  it  out  again  in  the  bloom  and  beauty  of  a  single 
hour. 

When  tea  was  over,  for  heroes  and  heroines  must  eat  if 
they  are  to  do  anything  worth  the  paper  on  which  their 
triumphs  and  tribulations  are  recorded,  the  women  gathered 
about  the  library  table,  work  in  hand,  as  female  tongues  go 
easier  when  their  fingers  are  occupied.  Sylvia  left  Prue 
and  Jessie  to  enjoy  Faith,  and  while  she  fabricated  some 
trifle  with  scarlet  silk  and  an  ivory  shuttle,  she  listened  to 
the  conversation  of  the  gentlemen  who  roved  about  the  room 
till  a  remark  of  Prue's  brought  the  party  together. 

"  Helen  Chesterfield  has  run  away  from  her  hushand  in 
the  most  disgraceful  manner." 

Mark  and  Moor  drew  near,  Adam  leaned  on  the  chimney- 
piece,  the  workers  paused,  and  having  produced  her  sen-sa- 


EAELY   AND   LATE.  199 

tioa,  Prue  proceeded  to  gratify  their  curiosity  as  briefly  as 
possible,  for  all  knew  the  parties  in  question  and  all  waited 
anxiously  to  hear  particulars. 

"  She  married  a  Frenchman  old  enough  to  be  her  father, 
but  very  rich.  She  thought  she  loved  him,  but  when  she 
got  tired  of  her  fine  establishment,  and  the  novelties  of 
Paris,  she  found  she  did  not,  and  was  miserable.  Many  of 
her  new  f ;  i  .'nds  had  lovers,  so  why  •  should  not  she  ;  and 
presently  due  began  to  amuse  herself  with  this  Louis 
G-ustave  Isadore  Theodule  de  Eoueville  —  There's  a  name 
for  a  Christian  man  I  Well,  she  began  in  play,  grew  in 
earnest,  and  when  she  could  bear  her  domestic  trouble  no 
longer  she  just  ran  away,  ruining  herself  for  this  life,  and 
really  I  don't  know  but  for  the  next  also." 

"  Poor  soul !  I  always  thought  she  was  a  fool,  but  upon 
iny  word  I  pity  her,"  said  Mark. 

'•Remember  she  was  very  young,  so  far  away  from  her 
mother,  with  no  real  friend  to  warn  and  help  her,  and  love 
is  so  sweet.  No  wonder  she  went." 

"  Sylvia,  how  can  you  excuse  her  in  that  way?  She 
should  have  done  her  duty  whether  she  loved  the  old 
gentleman  or  not,  and  kept  her  troubles  to  herself  in  a 
proper  manner.  You  young  girls  think  so  much  of  love,  so 
little  of  moral  obligations,  decorum,  and  the  opinions  of  the 
world,  you  are  not  fit  judges  of  the  case.  Mr.  Warwick 
Agrees  with  me,  I  am  sure." 

"  Not  in  the  least." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  Helen  should  have  left  her 
husband  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  if  she  could  not  love  him." 

"  Dp  you  also  mean  to  say  that  she  did  right  to  run  off 
with  that  Gustavc  Isadore  Theodule  creature  ?  " 


200  MOODS. 

"By  no  means.  It  is  worse  than  folly  to  attempt  the 
righting  of  one  wrong  by  the  commission  of  another.". 

"  Then  what  in  the  world  should  she  have  done?  " 

"  She  should  have  honestly  decided  which  she  loved,  have 
frankly  told  the  husband  the  mistake  both  had  made,  and 
demanded  her  liberty.  If  the  lover  was  worthy,  have 
openly  married  him  and  borne  the  world's  censures.  If 
not  worthy,  have  stood  alone,  an  honest  wom:m  in  God's 
eyes,  whatever  the  blind  world  might  have  thought." 

Prue  was  scandalized  to  the  last  degree,  for  with  her 
marriage  was  more  a  law  than  a  gospel ;  a  law  which  or 
dained  that  a  pair  once  yoked  should  abide  by  their  bargain, 
be  it  good  or  ill,  and  preserve  the  proprieties  in  public  no 
matter  how  hot  a  hell  their  home  might  be  for  them  and 
for  their  children. 

"  What  a  dreadful  state  society  would  be  in  if  your  ideas 
were  adopted !  People  would  constantly  be  finding  out 
that  they  were  mismatched,  and  go  running  about  as  if 
playing  that  game  where  every  one  changes  places.  I'd 
rather  die  at  once  than  live  to  see  such  a  state  of  things  as 
that,"  said  the  worthy  spinster. 

«'  So  would  I,  and  recommend  prevention  rather  than  a 
dangerous  cure." 

"  I  really  should  like  to  hear  your  views,  Mr.  Warwick, 
for  you  quite  take  my  breath  away." 

Much  to  Sylvia's  surprise  Adam  appeared  to  like  the 
subject,  and  placed  his  views  at  Prue's  disposal  with 
alacrity. 

"  I  would  begin  at  the  beginning,  and  teach  young  people 
that  marriage  is  not  the  only  aim  and  end  of  life,  yet  would 
fit  them  for  it,  as  for  a  sacrament  too  high  and  holy  to  be 
profaned  by  a  light  word  or  thought.  Show  them  how  to 


EARLY   AND   LATE.  201 

be  worthy  of  it  and  how  to  wait  for  it.  Give  them  a  law  of 
life  both  cheerful  and  sustaining ;  a  law  that  shall  keep  them 
hopeful  if  single,  sure  that  here  or  hereafter  they  will  find 
that  other  self  and  be  accepted  by  it ;  happy  if  wedded,  tor 
their  own  integrity  of  heart  will  teach  them  to  know  tho 
true  god  when  he  comes,  and  keep  them  loyal  to  the  last." 

"  That  is  all  very  excellent  and  charming,  but  what  are 
the  poor  souls  to  do  who  have  n't  been  educated  in  this 
fine  way  ?  "  asked  Pruc. 

"  Unhappy  marriages  are  the  tragedies  of  our  day,  and 
will  be,  till  we  learn  that  there  are  truer  laws  to  be  obeyed 
than  those  custom  sanctions,  other  obstacles  than  inequal 
ities  of  fortune,  rank,  and  age.  Because  two  persons  love, 
it  is  not  always  safe  or  wise  for  them  to  marry,  nor  need 
it  necessarily  wreck  their  peace  to  live  apart.  Often  what 
seems  the  best  affection  of  our  hearts  does  more  for  us  by 
being  thwarted  than  if  granted  its  fulfilment  and  prove  a 
failure  which  embitters  two  lives  instead  of  sweetening  one." 

He  paused  there,  but  Prue  wanted  a  clearer  answer,  and 
turned  to  Faith,  sure  that  the  woman  would  take  her  own 
view  of  the  matter. 

"  Which  of  us  is  right,  Miss  Dane,  in  Helen's  case  ?" 

"  I  cannot  venture  to  judge  the  young  lady,  knowing  so 
little  of  her  character  or  the  influences  that  have  surround 
ed  her,  and  believing  that  a  certain  divine  example  is  best 
for  us  to  follow  at  such  times.  I  agree  with  Mr.  Warwick, 
but  not  wholly,  for  his  summary  mode  of  adjustment  would 
not  be  quite  just  nor  right  in  all  cases.  If  both  find  that 
they  do  not  love,  the  sooner  they  part  the  wiser ;  if  one 
alone  makes  the  discovery  the  case  is  sadder  still,  and 
harder  for  either  to  decide.  But  as  I  speak  from  observa 
tion  only  my  opinions  are  of  little  worth." 


202  MOODS. 

"  Of  great  worth,  Miss  Dane ;  for  to  women  like  yourself 
observation  often  does  the  work  of  experience,  and  despite 
your  modesty  I  wait  to  hear  the  opinions." 

Warwick  spoke,  and  spoke  urgently,  for  the  effect  of  all 
this  upon  Sylvia  was  too  absorbing  a  study  to  be  relin 
quished  yet.  As  he  turned  to  her,  Faith  gave  him  an 
intelligent  glance,  and  answered  like  one  speaking  with 
intention  and  to  some  secret  but  serious  issue  — 

"  You  shall  have  them.  Let  us  suppose  that  Helen  was 
a  woman  possessed  of  a  stronger  character,  a  deeper  na 
ture  ;  the  husband  a  younger,  nobler  man  ;  the  lover  truly 
excellent,  and  above  even  counselling  the  step  this  pair  have 
taken.  In  a  case  like  that  the  wife,  having  promised  to 
guard  another's  happiness,  should  sincerely  endeavor  to  do 
so,  remembering  that  in  making  the  joy  of  others  we  often 
find  our  own,  and  that  having  made  so  great  a  mistake  the 
other  should  not  bear  all  the  loss.  If  there  be  a  strong 
attachment  on  the  husband's  part,  and  he  a  man  worthy  of 
affection  and  respect,  who  has  given  himself  confidingly, 
believing  himself  beloved  by  the  woman  he  so  loves,  she 
should  leave  no  effort  unmade,  no  self-denial  unexacted, 
till  she  has  proved  beyond  all  doubt  that  it  is  impossible  to 
be  a  true  wife.  Then,  and  not  till  then,  has  she  the  right 
to  dissolve  the  tie  that  has  become  a  sin,  because  where  no 
love  lives  inevitable  suffering  and  'sorrow  enter  in,  falling 
not  only  upon  guilty  parents,  but  the  innocent  children 
who  may  be  given  them." 

"  And  the  lover,  what  of  him  ?  "  asked  Adam,  still  in 
tent  upon  his  purpose,  for,  though  he  looked  steadily  at 
Faith,  he  knew  that  Sylvia  drove  the  shuttle  in  and  out 
with  a  desperate  industry  that  made  her  silence  significant 
to  him. 


EARLY   AND   LATE.  203 

"  I  would  have  the  lover  suffer  and  wait ;  sure  that,  how 
ever  it  may  fare  with  him,  he  will  be  the  richer  and  the 
better  for  having  known  the  joy  and  pain  of  love." 

"  Thank  you."  And  to  Mark's  surprise  Warwick  bowed 
gravely,  and  Miss  Dane  resumed  her  work  with  a  preoccu 
pied  air. 

"  Well,  for  a  confirmed  celibate,  it  strikes  me  you  take  a 
remarkable  interest  in  matrimony,"  said  Mark.  "  Or  is  it 
merely  a  base  desire  to  speculate  upon  the  tribulations  of 
your  fellow-beings,  and  congratulate  yourself  upon  your 
escape  from  them?" 

44  Neither ;  I  not  only  pity  and  long  to  alleviate  them, 
but  have  a  strong  desire  to  share  them,  and  the  wish 
and  purpose  of  my  life  for  the  last  year  has  been  to 
marry." 

Outspoken  as  Warwick  was  at  all  times  and  on  all  sub 
jects,  there  was  something  in  this  avowal  that  touched 
those  present,  for  with  the  words  a  quick  rising  light  and 
warmth  illuminated  his  whole  countenance,  and  the  energy 
of  his  desire  turned  his  voice  to  a  key  which  caused  one 
heart  to  beat  fast,  one  pair  of  eyes  to  fill  with  sudden  tears. 
Moor  could  not  see  his  friend's  face,  but  he  &aw  Mark's, 
divined  the  indiscreet  inquiry  hovering  on  his  lips,  and 
arrested  it  with  a  warning  gesture. 

A  pause  ensued,  during  which  each  person  made  some 
mental  comment  on  the  last  speech,  and  to  several  of  the 
group  that  little  moment  was  a  memorable  one.  Remem 
bering  the  lost  love  Warwick  had  confessed  to  him,  Moor 
thought  with  friendliest  regret —  "  Poor  Adam,  he  finds  it 
impossible  to  forget."  Beading  the  truth  in  the  keen  de 
light  the  instant  brought  her,  Sylvia  cried  out  within  Lcr- 
self,  "Oh,  Geoffrey,  forgive  me,  for  I  love  him!"  uiid 


204  MOODS. 

Warwick  whispered  to  that  impetuous  heart  of  his,  "  Be 
still,  we  have  ventured  far  enough." 

Prue  spoke  first,  very  much  disturbed  by  having  her 
prejudices  and  opinions  opposed,  and  very  anxious  to  prove 
herself  in  the  right. 

"  Mark  and  Geoffrey  look  as  if  they  agreed  with  Mr. 
Warwick  in  his  —  excuse  me  if  I  say,  dangerous  ideas ;  but 
I  fancy  the  personal  application  of  them  wculd  change  their 
'minds.  Now,  Mark,  just  look  at  it ;  suppose  some  one  of 
Jessie's  lovers  should  discover  an  affinity  for  her,  and  she 
for  him,  what  would  you  do  ?  " 

"  Shoot  him  or  myself,  or  all  three,  and  make  a  neat 
little  tragedy  of  it." 

"  There  is  no  getting  a  serious  answer  from  you,  and  I 
wonder  I  ever  try.  Geoffrey,  I  put  the  case  to  you  ;  if 
Sylvia  should  find  she  adored  Julian  Haize,  who  fell  sick 
when  she  was  married,  you  know,  and  should  inform  you 
of  that  agreeable  fact  some  fine  day,  should  you  think  it 
quite  reasonable  and  right  to  say,  "  Go,  my  dear,  I'm  very 
sorry,  but  it  can't  be  helped." 

The  way  in  which  Prue  put  the  case  made  it  impossible 
for  her  hearers  not  to  laugh.  But  Sylvia  held  her  breath 
while  waiting  for  her  husband's  answer.  He  was  standing 
behind  her  chair,  and  spoke  with  the  smile  still  on  his  lips, 
too  confident  to  harbor  even  a  passing  fancy. 

*'  Perhaps  I  ought  to  be  generous  enough  to  do  so,  but 
not  being  a  Jaques,  with  a  convenient  glacier  to  help  me 
out  of  the  predicament,  I  am  afraid  I  should  be  hard  to 
manage.  I  love  but  few,  and  those  few  are  my  world  ;  so 
io  not  try  me  too  hardly,  Sylvia." 

"  I  shall  do  my  best,  Geoffrey." 

She  dropped  her  shuttle  as  she  spoke,  and  stooping  to 


EARLY    AND   LATE.  205 

pick  it  up,  down  swept  the  long  curls  over  either  cheek ; 
thus,  when  she  fell  to  work  again,  nothing  of  her  face  was 
visible  but  a  glimpse  of  forehead,  black  lashes  and  faintly 
smiling  mouth.  Moor  led  the  conversation  to  other  topics, 
and  was  soon  deep  in  an  art  discussion  with  Mark  and  Miss 
Dane,  while  Prue  and  Jessie  chatted  away  on  that  safe  sub 
ject,  dress.  But  Sylvia  worked  silently,  and  Warwick  still 
leaned  there  watching  the  busy  hand  as  if  he  saw  some 
thing  more  than  a  pretty  contrast  between  the  white  fingers 
and  the  scarlet  silk. 

When  the  other  guests  had  left,  and  Faith  and  himself 
had  gone  to  their  rooms,  Warwick,  bent  on  not  passing  an 
other  sleepless  night  full  of  unprofitable  longings,  went 
down  again  to  get  a  book.  The  library  was  still  lighted, 
and  standing  there  alone  he  saw  Sylvia,  wearing  an  expres 
sion  that  startled  him.  Both  hands  pushed  back  and  held 
her  hair  away  as  if  she  scorned  concealment  from  herself. 
Her  eyes  seemed  fixed  with  a  despairing  glance  on  some  in 
visible  disturber  of  her  peace.  All  the  light  and  color 
that  made  her  beautiful  were  gone,  leaving  her  face  worn 
and  old,  and  the  language  of  both  countenance  and  attitude 
was  that  of  one  suddenly  confronted  with  some  hard  fact, 
some  heavy  duty,  that  must  be  accepted  and  performed. 

This  revelation  lasted  but  a  moment,  Moor's  step  came 
down  the  hall,  the  hair  fell,  the  anguish  passed,  and  noth 
ing  but  a  wan  and  weary  face  remained.  But  Warwick 
had  seen  it,  and  as  he  stole  away  unperceived  he  pressed 
his  hands  together,  saying  mournfully  within  himself,  "  I 
was  mistaken.  Grod  help  us  all." 


18 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

IN   THE    TWILIGHT. 

IF  Sylvia  needed  another  trial  to  make  that  hard  week 
harder,  it  soon  came  to  her  in  the  knowledge  that  Warwick 
watched  her.  She  well  knew  why,  and  vainly  endeavored 
to  conceal  from  him  that  which  she  had  succeeded  in  con 
cealing  entirely  from  others.  But  he  possessed  the  key  to 
her  variable  moo'ds ;  he  alone  knew  that  now  painful  fore 
thought,  not  caprice  dictated  many  of  her  seeming  whims, 
and  ruled  her  simplest  action.  To  others  she  appeared  busy, 
gay,  and  full  of  interest  in  all  about  her ;  to  him,  the  indus 
try  was  a  preventive  of  forbidden  thoughts ;  the  gayety  a 
daily  endeavor  to  forget ;  the  interest,  an  anxiety  concerning 
the  looks  and  words  of  her  companions,  because  she  must 
guard  her  own. 

Sylvia  felt  something  like  terror  in  the  presence  of  this 
penetrating  eye,  this  daring  will,  for  the  vigilance  was  un 
flagging  and  unobtrusive,  and  with  all  her  efforts  she  could 
not  read  his  heart  as  she  felt  her  own  was  being  read. 
Adam  could  act  no  part,  but  bent  on  learning  the  truth 
for  the  sake  of  all,  he  surmounted  the  dangers  of  the  situa 
tion  by  no  artifice,  no  rash  indulgence,  but  by  simply  shun 
ning  solitary  interviews  with  Sylvia  as  carefully  as  the 
courtesy  due  his  hostess  would  allow.  In  walks  and  drives, 
and  general  conversation,  he  bore  his  part,  surprising  and 


IN    THE    TWILIGHT.  207 

delighting  those  who  knew  him  best  by  the  genial  change 
which  seemed  to  have  softened  his  rugged  nature.  But  the 
instant  the  family  group  fell  apart  and  Moor's  devotion  to 
his  cousin  left  Sylvia  alone,  Warwick  was  away  into  the 
wood  or  out  upon  the  sea,  lingering  there  till  some  meal, 
some  appointed  pleasure,  or  the  evening  lamp  brought  all 
together.  Sylvia  understood  this,  and  loved  him  for  it  even 
while  she  longed  to  have  it  otherwise.  But  Moor  reproach 
ed  him  for  his  desertion,  doubly  felt  since  the  gentler  ac 
quirements  made  him  dearer  to  his  friend.  Hating  all 
disguises,  Warwick  found  it  hard  to  withhold  the  fact 
which  was  not  his  own  to  give,  and  sparing  no  blame  to 
himself,  answered  Moor's  playful  complaint  with  a  sad 
sincerity  that  freed  him  from  all  further  pleadings. 

"Geoffrey,  I  have  a  heavy  heart  which  even  you  cannot 
heal.  Leave  it  to  time,  and  let  me  come  and  go  as  of  old, 
enjoying  the  social  hour  ^when  I  may,  flying  to  solitude 
when  I  inust.'? 

Much  as  Sylvia  had  longed  to  see  these  friends,  she 
counted  the  hours  of  their  stay,  for  the  presence  of  one  was 
a  daily  disquieting,  because  spirits  would  often  flag,  con 
versation  fail,  and  an  utter  weariness  creep  over  her  when 
she-  could  least  account  for  or  yield  to  it.  More  than  once 
during  that  week  she  longed  to  lay  her  head  on  Faith's 
kind  bosom  and  ask  help.  Deep  as  was  her  husband's  love 
it  did  not  possess  the  soothing  power  of  a  woman's  sympa 
thy,  and  though  it  cradled  her  as  tenderly  as  if  she  had 
been  a  child,  Faith's  compassion  would  have  been  like 
motherly  arms  to  fold  and  foster.  But  friendly  as  they 
soon  became,  frank  as  was  Faith's  regard  for  Sylvia,  ear 
nest  as  was  Sylvia's  affection  for  Faith,  she  never  seemed 
to  reach  that  deeper  place  where  she  desired  to  be.  Always 


208  MOODS. 

when  she  thought  she  had  found  the  innermost  that  each  of 
us  seek  for  in  OUT  friend,  she  felt  that  Faith  drew  back, 
and  a  reserve  as  delicate  as  inflexible  barred  her  approach 
with  chilly  gentleness.  This  seemed  so  foreign  to  Faith's 
nature  that  Sylvia  pondered  and  grieved  over  it  till  the 
belief  came  to  her  that  this  woman,  so  truly  excellent  and 
loveworthy,  did  not  desire  to  receive  her  confidence,  and 
sometimes  a  bitter  fear  assailed  her  that  Warwick  was  not 
the  only  reader  of  her  secret  trouble. 

All  things  have  an  end,  and  the  last  day  came  none  too 
soon  for  one  dweller  under  that  hospitable  roof.  Faith 
refused  all  entreaties  to  stay,  and  looked  somewhat  anxiously 
at  Warwick  as  Moor  turned  from  herself  to  him  with  the 
same  urgency. 

"Adam,  you  will  stay?     Promise  me  another  week?" 

"I  never  promise,  Geoffrey." 

Believing  that,  as  no  denial  came,  his  request  was  granted, 
Moor  gave  his  whole  attention  to  Faith,  who  was  to  leave 
them  in  an  hour. 

"  Sylvia,  while  I  help  our  cousin  to  select  and  fasten  up 
the  books  and  prints  she  likes  to  take  with  her,  will  you 
run  down  into  the  garden  and  fill  your  prettiest  basket  with 
our  finest  grapes  ?  You  will  like  that  better  than  fumbling 
with  folds  and  string ;  and  you  know  one's  servants  should 
not  perform  these  pleasant  services  for  one's  best  friends." 

Glad  to  be  away,  Sylvia  ran  through  the  long  grape 
walk  to  its  sunniest  nook,  and  standing  outside  the  arch, 
began  to  lay  the  purple  clusters  in  her  basket.  Only  a 
moment  was  she  there  alone ;  Warwick's  shadow,  lengthened 
by  the  declining  sun,  soon  fell  black  along  the  path.  He 
did  not  see  her,  nor  seem  intent  on  following  her  ;  he  walked 
slowly,  hat  in  hand,  so  slowly  that  he  was  but  midway  down 


IN   THE   TWILIGHT.  209 

• 

the  leafy  lane  when  Faith's  voice  arrested  him.  She  was 
in  haste,  as  her  hurried  step  and  almost  breathless  words 
betrayed ;  and  losing  not  an  instant,  she  cried  before  they 
met  — 

"  Adam,  you  will  come  with  me  ?  I  cannot  leave  you 
here." 

"  Do  you  doubt  me,  Faith  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  loving  women  are  so  weak." 

"  So  strong,  you  mean ;  men  are  weakest  when  they 
love." 

"  Adam,  will  you  come  ?  " 

"  I  will  follow  you ;  I  shall  speak  with  Geoffrey  first" 

"  Must  you  tell  him  so  soon  ?  " 

"I  must." 

Faith's  hand  had  been  on  Warwick's  arm  ;  as  he  spoke 
the  last  words  she  bent  her  head  upon  it  for  an  instant, 
then  without  another  word  turned  and  hurried  back  as 
rapidly  as  she  had  come,  while  Warwick  stood  where  she  left 
him,  motionless  as  if  buried  in  some  absorbing  thought. 

All  had  passed  in  a  moment,  a  moment  too  short,  too  full 
of  intense  surprise  to  leave  Sylvia  time  for  recollection  and 
betrayal  of  her  presence.  Half  hidden  and  wholly  unob 
served  she  had  seen  the  unwonted  agitation  of  Faith's 
countenance  and  manner,  had  heard  Warwick's  softly  spoken 
answers  to  those  eager  appeals,  and  with  a  great  pang  had 
discovered  that  some  tender  confidence  existed  between  these 
two* of  which  she  had  never  dreamed.  Sudden  as  the  dis 
covery  was  its  acceptance  and  belief ;  for,  knowing  her  own 
weakness,  Sylvia  found  something  like  relief  in  the  hope 
that  a  new  happiness  for  Warwick  had  ended  all  temptation, 
and  in  time  perhaps  all  pain  for  herself.  Impulsive  as  ever 
she  leaned  upon  the  seeming  truth,  and  making  of  the  fancy 
180 


210  MOODS. 

• 

a  fact,  passed  into  a  perfect  passion  of  self-abnegation, 
thinking,  in  the  brief  pause  that  followed  Faith's  depar 
ture — 

"  This  is  the  change  we  see  in  him ;  this  made  him  watch 
me,  hoping  I  had  forgotten,  as  I  once  said  and  believed.  I 
should  be  glad,  I  will  be  glad,  and  let  him  see  that  even 
while  I  suffer  I  can  rejoice  in  that  which  helps  us  both." 

Full  of  her  generous  purpose,  yet  half  doubtful  how  to 
execute  it,  Sylvia  stepped  from  the  recess  where  she  had 
stood,  and  slowly  passed  toward  Warwick,  apparently  in 
tent  on  settling  her  fruity  burden  as  she  went.  At  the 
first  sound  of  her  light  step  on  the  gravel  he  turned,  feeling 
at  once  that  she  must  have  heard,  and  eager  to  learn  what 
significance  that  short  dialogue  possessed  for  her.  Only  a 
hasty  glance  did  she  give  him  as  she  came,  but  it  showed 
him  flushed  cheeks,  excited  eyes,  and  lips  a  little  tremulous 
as  they  said  — 

"  These  are  for  Faith  ;  will  you  hold  the  basket  while  I 
cover  it  with  leaves  ?  " 

He  took-  it,  and  as  the  first  green  covering  was  deftly 
laid,  he  asked,  below  his  breath  — 

"  Sylvia,  did  you  hear  us  ?  " 

To  his  unutterable  amazement  she  looked  up  clearly,  and 
all  her  heart  was  in  her  voice,  as  she  answered  with  a  fer 
vency  he  could  not  doubt  — 

"  Yes ;  and  I  was  glad  to  hear,  to  know  that  a  nobler 
woman  filled  the  place  I  cannot  fill.  Oh,  believe  it,  Ada«a  ; 
and  be  sure  that  the  knowledge  of  your  great  content  will 
lighten  the  terrible  regret  which  you  have  seen  as  nothing 
else  ever  could  have  done.*' 

Down  fell  the  basket  at  their  feet,  and  taking  her  face 
between  his  hands,  Warwick  bent  and  searched  with  a  glance 


IN    THE    TWILIGHT.  211 

that  seemed  to  penetrate  to  her  heart's  core.  For  a  moment 
she  struggled  to  escape,  but  the  "grasp  that  held  her  was 
immovable.  She  tried  to  oppose  a  steadfast  front  and  baffle 
that  perilous  inspection,  but  quick  and  deep  rushed  the 
traitorous  color  over  cheek  and  forehead  with  its  mute  be 
trayal.  She  tried  to  turn  her  eyes  away,  but  those  other  eyes, . 
dark  and  dilated  with  intensity  of  purpose,  fixed  her  own, 
and  the  confronting  countenance  wore  an  expression  which 
made  its  familiar  features  look  awfully  large  and  grand  to 
her  panic-stricken  sight.  A  sense  of  utter  helplessness  fell 
on  her,  courage  deserted  her,  pride  changed  to  fear,  defiance 
to  despair ;  as  the  flush  faded,  the  fugitive  glance  was  arrested 
and  the  upturned  face  became  a  pale  blank,  ready  to  receive 
the  answer  that  strong  scrutiny  was  slowly  bringing  to  the 
light,  as  invisible  characters  start  out  upon  a  page  when  fire 
passes  ovei  them.  Neither  spoke,  but  soon  through  all  op 
posing  barriers  the  magnetism  of  an  indomitable  will  drew 
forth  the  truth,  set  free  the  captive  passion  pent  so  long, 
and  wrung  from  those  reluctant  lineaments  a  full  confession 
of  that  power  which  heaven  has  gifted  with  eternal  youth. 

The  instant  this  assurance  was  his  own  beyond  a  doubt, 
Warwick  released  her,  snatched  up  his  hat,  and  hurrying 
down  the  path  vanished  in  the  wood.  Spent  as  with  an 
hour's  excitement,  and  bewildered  by  emotions  which  she 
could  no  longer  master,  Sylvia  lingered  in  the  grape  walk 
till  her  husband  called  her.  Then  hastily  refilling  her 
basket,  she  shook  her  hair  about  her  face  and  went  to  bid 
Faith  good  by.  Moor  was  to  accompany  her  to  the  city, 
and  they  left  early,  that  Faith  might  pause  for  adieux  to 
Mark  and  Prudence. 

"  Where  is  Adam  ?  Has  he  gone  before,  or  been  in- 
veiled  into  staying  ?  " 


212  MOODS. 

Moor  spoke  to  Sylvia,  but  busied  in  fastening  the  basket, 
lid,  she  seemed  not  to  hear,  and  Faith  replied  for  her. 

"  He  will  take  a  later  boat,  we  need  not  wait  for  him." 

When  Faith  embraced  Sylvia,  all  the  coldness  had  melted 
from  her  manner,  and  her  voice  was  tender  as  a  mother's  as 
she  whispered  low  in  her  ear  — 

"  Dear  child,  if  ever  you  need  any  help  that  Geoffrey 
cannot  give,  remember  cousin  Faith." 

For  two  hours  Sylvia  sat  alone,  not  idle,  for  in  the  first 
real  solitude  she  had  enjoyed  for  seven  days  she  looked 
deeply  into  herself,  and  putting  by  all  disguises  owned  the 
truth,  and  resolved  to  repair  the  past  if  possible,  as  Faith 
had  counselled  in  the  case  which  she  had  now  made  her 
own.  Like  so  many  of  us,  Sylyia  often  saw  her  Errors  too 
late  to  avoid  committing  them,  and  failing  to  do  the  right 
thing  at  the  right  moment,  kept  herself  forever  in  arrears 
with  that  creditor  who  must  inevitably  be  satisfied.  She 
had  been  coming  to  this  decision  all  that  weary  week,  and 
these  quiet  hours  left  her  both  resolute  and  resigned. 

As  she  sat  there  while  the  early  twilight  began  to  gather, 
her  eye  often  turned  to  Warwick 's  travelling  bag,  which 
Faith,  having  espied  it  ready  in  his  chamber,  had  brought 
down  and  laid  in  the  library,  as  a  reminder  of  her  wish. 
As  she  looked  at  it,  Sylvia 's  heart  yearned  toward  it  in  the 
fond,  foolish  way  which  women  have  of  endowing  the  pos 
sessions  of  those  they  love  with  the  attractions  of  sentient 
things,  and  a  portion  of  their  owner's  character  or  claim 
upon  themselves.  It  was  like  Warwick,  simple  and  strong, 
no  key,  and  every  mark  of  the  long  use  which  had  tested 
its  capabilities  and  proved  them  durable.  A  pair  of  glovea 
lay  beside  it  on  the  chair,  and  though  she  longed  to  touch 
anything  of  his,  she  resisted  the  temptation  till,  pausing 


IN   THE    TWILIGHT.  213 

near  them  in  one  of  her  journeys  to  the  window,  she  saw  a 
rent  in  the  glove  that  lay  uppermost,  —  that  appeal  was 
irresistible,  —  "  Poor  Adam !  there  has  been  no  one  to  care 
for  him  so  long,  and  Faith  does  not  yet  know  how ;  surely 
I  may  perform  so  small  a  service  for  him  if  he  never  knows 
how  tenderly  I  do  it?  " 

Standing  ready  to  drop  her  work  at  a  sound,  Sylvia 
snatched  a  brief  satisfaction  which  solaced  her  more  than 
an  hour  of  idle  lamentation,  and  as  she  kissed  the  glove 
with  a  long,  sad  kiss,  and  put  it  down  with  eyes  that  dimly 
saw  where  it  should  be,  perhaps  there  went  as  much  real 
love  and  sorrow  into  that  little  act  as  ever  glorified  some 
greater  deed.  Then  she  went  to  lie  in  the  "Refuge,"  as 
she  had  named  an  ancient  chair,  with  her  head  on  its  em 
bracing  arm.  Not  weeping,  but  quietly  watching  the  flicker 
of  the  fire,  which  filled  the  room  with  warm  duskiness, 
making  the  twilight  doubly  pleasant,  till  a  sudden  blaze 
leaped  up,  showing  her  that  her  watch  was  over  and  War 
wick  come.  She  had  not  heard  him  enter,  but  there  he  was 
close  before  her,  his  face  glowing  with  the  frosty  air,  his 
eye  clear  and  kind,  and  in  his  aspect  that  nameless  charm 
which  won  for  him  the  confidence  of  whosoever  read  his  coun 
tenance.  Scarce  knowing  why,  Sylvia  felt  reassured  that 
all  was  well,  and  looked  up  with  more  welcome  in  her  heart 
than  she  dared  betray  in  words. 

"  Come  at  last !  where  have  you  been  so  long,  Adam  ?  " 

"  Round  the  Island  I  suspect,  for  I  lost  my  way,  and  had 
no  guide  but  instinct  to  lead  me  home  again.  I  like  to  say 
that  word,  for  though  it  is  not  home  it  seems  so  to  me  now. 
May  1  sit  here  before  I  go,  and  warm  myself  at  your  fire, 
Sylvia  ?  " 

Sure  of  his  answer  he  established  himself  on  the  stool  at 


MOODS 
x 

her  foet,  stretched  his  hands  to  the  grateful  blaze,  and  went 
on  with  some  inward  resolution  lending  its  power  and  depth 
to  his  voice. 

"  I  had  a  question  to  settle  with  myself  and  went  to  find 
my  best  counsellors  in  the  wood.  Often  when  I  am  har 
assed  by  some  perplexity  or  doubt  to  which  I  can  find  no 
wise  or  welcome  answer,  I  walk  myself  into  a  belief  that  it 
will  come ;  then  it  appears.  I  stoop  to  break  a  handsome 
flower,  to  pick  up  a  cone,  or  watch  some  little  creature  hap 
pier  than  I,  and  there  lies  my  answer,  like  a  good  luck 
penny,  ready  to  my  hand." 

"Faith  has  gone,  but  Geoffrey  hopes  to  keep  you  for 
another  week,"  said  Sylvia,  ignoring  the  unsafe  topic. 

"  Shall  he  have  his  wish  ?" 

"  Faith  expects  you  to  follow  her." 

"  And  you  think  I  ought  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  will." 

"  When  does  the  next  boat  leave  ?  " 

"  An  hour  hence." 

"  I'll  wait  for  it  here.     Did  I  wake  you  coming  in?  " 

"  I  was  not  asleep  ;  only  lazy,  warm,  and  quiet" 

"  And  deadly  tired  ;  —  dear  soul,  how  can  it  be  otherwise, 
leading  the  life  you  lead." 

There  was  such  compassion  in  his  voice,  such  affection  in 
his  eye,  such  fostering  kindliness  in  the  touch  of  the  hand 
he  laid  upon  her  own,  that  Sylvia  cried  within  herself,  — 
"Oh,  if  Geoffrey  would  only  come!"  and  hoping  for  that 
help  to  save  her  from  herself,  she  hastily  replied  — 

"You  are  mistaken,  Adam. — my  life  is  easier  than  I 
deserve,  —  my  husband  makes  me  very  —  " 

"  Miserable,  — the. truth  to  me,  Sylvia." 

Warwick  rose  as  he  spoke,  closed  the  door  and  came  back 


IN    THE    TWILIGHT.  215 

wearing  an  expression  which  caused  her  to  start  up  with  a 
gesture  of  entreaty  — 

"No  no,  I  will  not  hear  you!  Adam,  you  must  not 
speak!" 

He  paused  opposite  her,  leaving  a  little  space  between 
them,  which  he  did  not  cross  through  all  that  followed,  and 
with  that  look,  inflexible  yet  pitiful,  he  answered  steadily  — 

"  I  must  speak  and  you  will  hear  me.  But  understand 
me,  Sylvia,  I  desire  and  design  no  French  sentiment  nor  sin 
like  that  we  heard  of,  and  what  I  say  now  I  would  say  if 
Geoffrey  stood  between  us.  I  have  settled  this  point  after 
long  thought  and  the  heartiest  prayers  1  ever  prayed  ;  and 
much  as  I  have  at  stake,  I  speak  more  for  your  sake  than 
my  own.  Therefore  do  not  entreat  nor  delay,  but  listen  and 
let  me  show  you  the  wrong  you  are  doing  yourself,  your 
husband,  and  your  friend." 

"  Does  Faith  know  all  the  past?  does  she  desire  you  to  do 
this  that  her  happiness  may  be  secure  ?  "  demanded  Sylvia. 

"  Faith  is  no  more  to  me,  nor  I  to  Faith,  than  the  friend 
liest  regard  can  make  us.  She  suspected  that  I  loved  you 
long  ago  ;  she  now  believes  that  you  love  me  ;  she  pities 
her  cousin  tenderly,  but  will  not  meddle  with  the  tangle  we 
have  made  of  our  three  lives.  Forget  that  folly,  and  let 
me  speak  to  you  as  I  should.  When  we  parted  I  thought 
that  you  loved  Geoffrey ;  so  did  you.  When  I  came  here 
I  was  sure  of  it  for  a  day ;  but  on  that  second  night  I  saw 
your  face  as  you  stood  here  alone,  and  then  I  knew  what  I 
have  since  assured  myself  of.  God  knows,  I  think  my  gain 
dearly  purchased  by  his  loss.  I  see  your  double  trial ;  I 
know  the  tribulations  in  store  for  all  of  us ;  yet,  as  an 
honest  man,  I  must  speak  out,  because  you  ought  not  to 
delude  yourself  or  Geoffrey  another  day." 


216  MOODS. 

"  What  right  have  you  to  come  between  us  and  decide 
my  duty,  Adam  ?  "  Sylvia  spoke  passionately,  roused  to 
resistance  by  his  manner  and  the  turmoil  of  emotions  war 
ring  within  her. 

"  The  right  of  a  sane  man  to  save  the  woman  he  loves 
from  destroying  her  own  peace  forever,  and  undermining 
the  confidence  of  the  friend  dearest  to  them  both.  I  know 
this  is  not  the  world's  way  in  such  matters ;  but  I  care  not ; 
because  I  believe  one  human  creature  has  a  right  to  speak 
to  another  in  times  like  these  as  if  they  two  stood  alone. 
I  will  not  command,  I  will  appeal  to  you,  and  if  you  are 
the  candid  soul  I  think  you,  your  own  words  shall  prove 
the  truth  of  what  I  say.  Sylvia,  do  you  love  your  hus 
band  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Adam,  dearly." 

"  More  than  you  love  me?  " 

"I  wish  I  did!  "I  wish  I  did!" 

"  Are  you  happy  with  him  ?  " 

"  I  was  till  you  came  ;  I  shall  be  when  you  are  gone." 

"  Never !  It  is  impossible  to  go  back  to  the  blind  tran 
quillity  you  once  enjoyed.  Now  a  single  duty  lies  before 
you ;  delay  is  weak,  deceit  is  wicked  ;  utter  sincerity 
alone  can  help  us.  Tell  Geoffrey  all ;  then,  whether  you 
live  your  life  alone,  or  one  day  come  to  me,  there  is  no 
false  dealing  to  repent  of,  and  looking  the  hard  fact  in 
the  face  robs  it  of  one  half  its  terrors.  Will  you  do  this, 
Sylvia  ?  " 

"  No,  Adam.  Kemember  what  he  said  that  night :  '  I 
love  but  few,  and  those  few  are  my  world,'  —  I  am  chief  in 
that  world  ;  shall  I  destroy  it,  for  my  selfish  pleasure  ?  He 
waited  for  me  very  long,  is  waiting  still ;  can  I  for  a  seconft 
time  disappoint  the  patient  heart  that  would  find  it  easier 


IN   THE    TWILIGHT.  217 

to  give  up  life  than  the  poor  possession  which  I  am.  No, 
I  ought  not,  dare  not  do  it  yet." 

"  If  you  dare  not  speak  the  truth  to  your  friend,  you  do 
not  deserve  him,  and  the  name  is  a  lie.  You  ask  me  to  re 
member  what  he  said  that  night,  —  I  ask  you  to  recall  the 
look  with  which  he  begged  you  not  to  try  him  too  hardly. 
Put  it  to  yourself,  —  which  is  the  kinder  justice,  a  full  con 
fession  now,  or  a  late  one  hereafter,  when  longer  subterfuge 
has  made  it  harder  for  you  to  offer,  bitterer  for  him  to  re 
ceive  ?  I  tell  you,  Sylvia,  it  were  more  merciful  to  murder 
him  outright  than  to  slowly  wear  away  his  faith,  his  peace, 
and  love  by  a  vain  endeavor  to  perform  as  a  duty  what 
should  be  your  sweetest  pleasure,  and  what  will  soon  be 
come  a  burden  heavier  than  you  can  bear/' 

"  You  do  not  see  as  I  see ;  you  cannot  understand  what 
I  am  to  him,  nor  can  I  tell  you  what  he  is  to  me.  It  is 
not  as  if  I  could  dislike  or  despise  him  for  any  unworthi- 
ness  of  his  own  ;  nor  as  if  he  were  a  lover  only.  Then  I 
could  do  much  which  now  is  worse  than  impossible,  for 
I  have  married  him,  and  it  is  too  late." 

"  Oh,  Sylvia  !  why  could  you  not  have  waited?  " 

"  Why  ?  because  I  am  what  I  am,  too  easily  led  by  cir 
cumstances,  too  entirely  possessed  by  whatever  hope,  belief, 
or  fear  rules  me  for  the  hour.  Give  me  a  steadfast  nature 
like  your  own  and  I  will  be  as  strong.  I  know  I  am  weak, 
but  I  am  not  wilfully  wicked ;  and  when  I  ask  you  to  be 
silent,  it  is  because  I  want  to  save  him  from  the  pain  of 
doubt,  and  try  to  teach  myself  to  love  him  as  I  should.  I 
must  have  time,  but  I  cajj  bear  much  and  endeavor  more 
persistently  than  you  believe.  If  I  forgot  you  once,  can  I 
not  again?  and  should  I  not?  I  am  all  in  all  to  him, 
while  you,  so  strong,  so  self-reliant,  can  do  without  m/  love 
19 


218  MOODS. 

as  you  have  done  till  now,  and  will  soon  outlive  your  sorrow 
for  the  loss  of  that  which  might  have  made  us  happy  had 
I  been  more  patient." 

"  Yes,  I  shall  outlive  it,  else  I  should-have  little  faith  in 
myself.  But  I  shall  not  forget ;  and  if  you  would  remain 
forever  what  you  now  are  to  me,  you  will  so  act  that  nothing 
may  mar  this  memory,  if  it  is  to  be  no  more.  I  doubt  your 
power  to  forget  an  affection  which  has  survived  so  many 
changes  and  withstood  assaults  such  as  Geoffrey  must  un 
consciously  have  made  upon  it.  But  I  have  no  right  to 
condemn  your  beliefs,  to  order  your  actions,  or  force  you 
to  accept  my  code  of  morals  if  you  are  not  ready  for  it. 
You  must  decide,  but  do  not  again  deceive  yourself,  and 
through  whatever  comes  hold  fast  to  that  which  is  better 
worth  preserving  than  husband,  happiness,  or  friend." 

His  words  fell  cold  on  Sylvia's  ear,  for  with  the  incon 
sistency  of  a  woman's  heart  she  thought  he  gave  her  up  too 
readily,  yet  honored  him  more  truly  for  sacrificing  both 
himself  and  her  to  the  principle  that  ruled  his  life-  and 
made  him  what  he  was.  His  seeming  resignation  steadied 
her,  for  now  he  waited  her  decision,  while  before  he  was 
only  bent  on  executing  the  purpose  wherein  he  believed  sal 
vation  lay.  She  girded  up  her  strength,  collected  her 
thoughts,  and  tried  to  show  him  what  she  believed  to  be 
her  duty. 

"  Let  me  tell  you  how  it  is  with  me,  Adam,  and  be  pa 
tent  if  I  am  not  wise  and  brave  like  you,  but  far  too  young, 
too  ignorant  to  bear  such  troubles  well.  I  am  not  leaning 
on  my  own  judgment  now,  but.on  Faith's,  and  though  you 
do  not  love  her  as  I  hoped,  you  feel  she  is  one  to  trust.  She 
said  the  wife,  in  that  fictitious  case  which  was  so  real  to  us, 
the  wife  should  leave  no  effort  unmade,  no  self-denial 


IN   THE    TWILIGHT.  219 

unexacted,  till  she  had  fairly  proved  that  she  could  not  be 
what  she  had  promised.  Then,  and  then  only,  had  she  a 
right  to  undo  the  tie  that  had  bound  her.  I  must  do  this 
before  I  think  of  your  love  or  my  own,  for  on  my  marriage 
morning  I  made  a  vow  within  myself  that  Geoffrey's  happi 
ness  should  be  the  first  duty  of  my  life.  I  shall  keep  that 
vow  as  sacredly  as  I  will  those  I  made  before  the  world, 
until  I  find  that  it  is  utterly  beyond  my  power,  then  I  will 
break  all  together." 

"  You  have  tried  that  once,  and  failed." 

"  No,  I  have  never  tried  it  as  I  shall  now.  At  first,  I 
did  not  know  the  truth,  then  I  was  afraid  to  believe,  and 
struggled  blindly  to  forget.  Now  I  see  clearly,  I  confe'ss  it, 
I  resolve  to  conquer  it,  and  I  will  not  yield  until  I  have 
done  my  best.  You  say  you  must  respect  me.  Could  you 
do  so  if  I  no  longer  respected  myself?  I  should  not,  if  I 
forgot  all  Geoffrey  had  borne  and  done  for  me,  and  could 
not  hear  and  do  this  thing  for  him.  I  must  make  the  effort, 
and  make  it  silently ;  for  he  is  very  proud  with  all  his  gentle 
ness,  and  would  reject  the  seeming  sacrifice  though  he  would 
make  one  doubly  hard  for  love  of  me.  If  I  am  to  stay  with 
him,  it  spares  him  the  bitterest  pain  he  could  suffer ;  if  I  am 
to  go,  it  gives  him  a  few  more  months  of  happiness,  and  I 
may  so  prepare  him  that  the  parting  will  be  less  hard. 
How  others  would  act  I  cannot  tell,  I  only  know  that  this 
seems  right  to  me ;  and  I  must  fight  my  fight  alone,  even  if 
I  die  in. doing  it." 

She  was  so  earnest,  yet  so  humble ;  so  weak  in  all  but 
the  desire  to  do  well ;  so  young  to  be  tormented  with  such 
fateful  issues,  and  withal  so  steadfast  in  the  grateful  yet 
remorseful  tenderness  she  bore  her  husband,  that  though 
sorely  disappointed  and  not  one  whit  convinced,  Warwick 


220  MOODS. 

could  only  submit  to  this  woman-hearted  child,  and  love 
her  with  redoubled  love,  both  for  what  she  was  and  what 
she  aspired  to  be. 

"  Sylvia,  what  would  you  have  me  do?  " 

"  You  must  go  away,  and  for  a  long  time,  Adam ;  because 
when  you  are  near  me  my  will  is  swayed  by  yours,  and 
what  you  desire  I  long  to  give  you.  Go  quite  away,  and 
through  Faith  you  may  learn  whether  I  succeed  or  fail.  It 
is  hard  to  say  this,  yet  you  know  it  is  a  truer  hospitality 
in  me  to  send  you  from  my  door  than  to  detain  and  offer 
you  temptation  for  your  daily  bread." 

How  strangely  Ottila  came  back  to  him,  and  all  the 
scenes  he  had  passed  through  with  her !  —  a  perilous  con 
trast  just  then.  Yet,  despite  his  pride  in  the  loving  little 
creature  who  put  him  from  her  that  she  might  be  worthy  of 
him,  one  irrepressible  lament  swelled  his  heart  and  passed 
his  lips  — 

"Ah,  Sylvia!  I  thought  that  parting  on  the  mountain 
was  the  hardest  I  could  ever  know,  but  this  is  harder ;  for 
now  I  have  but  to  say*come  to  me,  and  you  would  come." 

But  the  bitter  moment  had  its  drop  of  honey,  whose 
sweetness  nourished  him  when  all  else  failed.  Sylvia 
answered  with  a  perfect  confidence  in  that  integrity  which 
even  her  own  longing  could  not  bribe  — 

"  Yes,  Adam,  but  you  will  not  say  it,  because  feeling  as 
I  feel,  you  know  I  must  not  come  to  you." 

He  did  know  it,  and  confessed  his  submission  by  folding 
fast  the  arms  half  opened  for  her,  and  standing  dumb  with 
the  words  trembling  on  his  lips.  It  was  the  bravest  action 
of  a  life  full  of  real  valor,  for  the  sacrifice  was  not  made 
with  more  than  human  fortitude.  The  man's  heart  clamored 
for  its  right,  patience  was  weary,  hope  despaired,  and  all 


IN   THE   TWILIGHT.  221 

natural  instincts  mutinied  against  the  command  that  bound 
them.  But  no  grain  of  virtue  ever  falls  wasted  to  the 
ground ;  it  drops  back  upon  its  giver  a  regathered  strength, 
and  cannot  fail  of  its  reward  in  some  kindred  soul's  appro 
val,  imitation,  or  delight.  It  was  so  then,  as  Sylvia  went 
to  him ;  for  though  she  did  not  touch  nor  smile  upon  him, 
he  felt  her  nearness ;  and  the  parting  assured  him  that  its 
power  bound  them  closer  than  the  happiest  union.  In  her 
face  there  shone  a  look  half  fervent,  half  devout,  and  her 
voice  had  no  falter  in  it  now. 

"You  show  me  what  I  should  be.  All  my  life  I  have 
desired  strength  of  heart  and  stability  of  soul ;  may  I  not 
hope  to  earn  for  myself  a  little  of  the  integrity  I  love  in 
you?  If  courage,  self-denial,  and  self-help,  make  you 
what  you  are,  can  I  have  a  more  effectual  guide  ?  You 
say  you  shall  outlive  this  passion  ;  why  should  not  I  imitate 
your  brave  example,  and  find  the  consolations  you  shall 
find?  Oh,  Adam,  let  me  try." 
"You  shall." 

"  Then  go ;  go  now,  while  I  can  say  it  as  I  should." 
"  The  good  Lord  bless  and  help  you,  Sylvia." 
She  gave  him  both  her  hands,  but  though  he  only  pressed 
them  silently,  that  pressure  nearly  destroyed  the  victory 
she  had  won,  for  the  strong  grasp  snapped  the  slender 
guard-ring  Moor  had  given  her  a  week  ago.  She  heard  it 
drop  with  a  golden  tinkle  on  the  hearth,  saw  the  dark 
oval,  with  its  doubly  significant  character,  roll  into  the 
ashes,  and  felt  Warwick's  hold  tighten  as  if  he  echoed  the 
emphatic  word  uttered  when  the  ineffectual  gift  was  first 
bestowed.  Superstition  flowed  in  Sylvia's  blood,  and  was 
as  unconquerable  as  the  imagination  which  supplied  its 
food.  This  omen  startled  her.  It  seemed  a  forewarning 

10  3 


222  MOODS. 

that  endeavor  would  be  vain,  that  submission  was  wisdom, 
and  that  the  husband's  charm  had  lost  its  virtue  when  the 
stronger  power  claimed  her.  The  desire  to  resist  began  to 
waver  as  the  old  passionate  longing  sprang  up  more  eloquent 
than  ever ;  she  felt  the  rush  of  a  coming  impulse,  knew 
that  it  would  sweep  her  into  Warwick's  arms,  there  to 
forget  her  duty,  to  forfeit  his  respect.  With  the  last  effort 
of  a  sorely  tried  spirit  she  tore  her  hands  away,  fled  up  to 
the  room  which  had  never  needed  lock  or  key  till  now,  and 
stifling  the  sound  of  those  departing  steps  among  the  cush 
ions  of  the  little  couch  where  she  had  wept  away  childish 
woes  and  dreamed  girlish  dreams,  she  struggled  with  the 
great  sorrow  of  her  too  early  womanhood,  uttering  with 
broken  voice  that  petition  oftenest  quoted  from  the  "one 
prayer  which  expresses  all  our  needs  — 

"  Lead  me  not  into  temptation,  but  deliver  me  from  evil." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

.       ASLEEP  AND  AWAKE. 

MARCH  winds  were  howling  round  the  house,  the  clock 
was  striking  two,  the  library  lamp  still  burned,  and  Moor 
sat  writing  with  an  anxious  face.  Occasionally,  he  paused 
to  look  backward  through  the  leaves  of  the  book  in  which 
he  wrote  ;  sometimes  he  sat  with  suspended  pen,  thinking 
deeply ;  and  once  or  twice  he  laid  it  down,  to  press  his  hand 
over  eyes  more  weary  than  the  mind  that  compelled  them  to 
this  late  service. 

Keturning  to  his  work  after  one  of  these  pauses,  he  was  a 
little  startled  to  see  Sylvia  standing  on  the  threshold  of  the 
door.  Kising  hastily  to  ask  if  she  were  ill,  he  stopped  half 
way  across  the  room,  for,  with  a  thrill  of  apprehension  and 
surprise,  he  saw  that  she  was  asleep.  Her  eyes  were  open, 
fixed  and  vacant,  her  face  reposeful,  her  breathing  regular, 
and  every  sense  apparently  wrapt  in  the  profoundest  uncon 
sciousness.  Fearful  of  awakening  her  too  suddenly,  Moor 
stood  motionless,  yet  full  of  interest,  for  this  was  his  first 
experience  of  somnambulism,  and  it  was  a  strange,  almost 
an  awful  sight,  to  witness  the  blind  obedience  of  the  body 
to  the  soul  that  ruled  it. 

For  several  minutes  she  remained  where  she  first  appear 
ed.  Then,  as  if  the  dream  demanded  action,  she  stooped, 
and  seemed  to  take  some  object  from  a  chair  beside  the  door, 


224  MOODS. 

held  it  an  instant,  Mssed  it  softly  and  laid  it  down.  Slow- 
ly  and  steadily  she  went  across  the  room,  avoiding  all  obsta 
cles  with  the  unerring  instinct  that  often  leads  the  sleep 
walker  through  dangers  that  appall  his  waking  eyes,  and  sat 
down  in  the  great  chair  he  had  left,  leaned  her  cheek  upon 
its  arm,  and  rested  tranquilly  for  several  minutes.  Soon 
the  dream  disturbed  her,  and  lifting  her  head,  she  bent  for 
ward,  as  if  addressing  or  caressing  some  one  seated  at  her 
feet.  Involuntarily  her  husband  smiled;  for  often  when 
they  were  alone  he  sat  there  reading  or  talking  to  her,  while 
she  played  with  his  hair,  likening  its  brown  abundance  to 
young  Milton's  curling  locks  in  the  picture  overhead.  The 
smile  had  hardly  risen  when  it  was  scared  away,  for  Sylvia 
suddenly  sprung  up  with  both  hands  out,  crying  in  a  voice 
that  rent  the  silence  with  its  imploring  energy  — 

"  No.  no,  you  must  not  speak !  I  will  not  hear  you  !  " 
Her  own  cry  woke  her.  Consciousness  and  memory  re 
turned  together,  and  her  face  whitened  with  a  look  of  terror, 
as  her  bewildered  eyes  showed  her  not  Warwick,  but  her 
husbapd.  This  look,  so  full  of  fear,  yet  so  intelligent, 
startled  Moor  more  than  the  apparition  or  the  cry  had 
done,  for  a  conviction  flashed  into  his  mind  that  some  un 
suspected  trouble  had  been  burdening  Sylvia,  and  was  now 
finding  vent  against  her  will.  Anxious  to  possess  himself 
of  the  truth,  and  bent  on  doing  so,  he  veiled  his  purpose 
for  a  time,  letting  his  unchanged  manner  reassure  and  com 
pose  her. 

"  Dear  child,  don't  look  so  lost  and  wild.  You  are  quite 
safe,  and  have  only  been  wandering  in  your  sleep.  Why, 
Mrs.  Macbeth,  have  you  murdered  some  one,  that  you  go 
crying  out  in  this  uncanny  way,  frightening  me  as  much  as 
I  seem  to  have  frightened  you  ?  " 


ASLEEP   AND   AWAKE.  '          225 

"I  have  murdered  sleep.  What  did  I  do?  what  did  I 
say  ?  "  she  asked,  trembling  and  shrinking  as  she  dropped 
into  her  chair. 

Hoping  to  quiet  her,  he  took  his  place  on  the  footstool, 
and  told  her  what  had  passed.  At  first,  she  listened  with  a 
divided  mind,  for  so  strongly  was  she  still  impressed  with 
the  vividness  of  the  dream,  she  half  expected  Warwick  to 
rise  like  Bmquo,  and  claim  the  seat  that  a  single  occupan 
cy  seemcil  to  have  made  his  own.  An  expression  of  intense 
relief  replaced  that  of  fear,  when  she  had  heard  all,  and 
she  composed  herself  with  the  knowledge  that  her  secret 
was  still  hers.  For,  dreary  bosom-guest  as  it  was,  she  had 
not  yet  resolved  to  end  her  trial. 

"  What  set  you  walking,  Sylvia  ?  " 

"  I  recollect  hearing  the  clock  strike  one,  and  thinking  I 
would  come  down  to  see  what  you  were  doing  so  late,  but 
must  have  dropped  off  and  carried  out  my  design  asleep. 
You  see  I  put  on  wrapper  and  slippers  as  I  always  do, 
when  I  take  nocturnal  rambles  awake.  How  pleasant  the 
k  fire  feels,  and  how  cosy  you  look  here ;  no  wonder  you  like 
to  stay  and  enjoy  it." 

She  leaned  forward  warming  her  hands  in  unconscious 
imitation  of  Adam,  on  the  night  which  she  had  been  recall 
ing  before  she  slept.  Moor  watched  her  with  increasing 
disquiet ;  for  never  had  he  seen  her  in  a  mood  like  this. 
She  evaded  his  question,  she  averted  her  eyes,  she  half  hid 
her  face,  and  with  a  gesture  that  of  late  had  grown  habitu 
al,  seemed  to  try  to  hide  her  heart.  Often  had  she  baffled 
him,  sometimes  grieved  him,  but  never  before  showed  that 
ehe  feared  him.  This  wounded  both  his  love  and  pride, 
and  this  fixed  his  resolution,  to  wring  from  her  an 
explanation  of  the  changes  which  had  passed  over  her 


226  MOODS. 

within  those  winter  months,  for  they  had  been  many  and 
mysterious.  As  if  she  feared  silence,  Sylvia  soon  spoke 
again. 

"  Why  are  you  up  so  late?  This  is  not  the  first  time  I 
have  seen  your  lamp  burning  when  I  woke.  What  are  you 
studying  so  deeply  ?  " 

"  My  wife." 

Leaning  on  the  arm  of  her  chair  he  looked  up  wistfully, 
tenderly,  as  if  inviting  confidence,  sueing  iur  affection. 
The  words,  the  look,  smote  Sylvia  to  the  heart,  and  but  for 
the  thought,  "I  have  not  tried  long  enough,"  she  would 
have  uttered  the  confession  that  leaped  to  her  lips.  Once 
spoken,  it  would  be  too  late  for  secret  effort  or  success,  and 
this  man's  happiest  hopes  would  vanish  in  a  breath.  Know 
ing  that  his  nature  was  almost  as  sensitively  fastidious  as  a 
woman's,  she  also  knew  that  the  discovery  of  her  love  for 
Adam,  innocent  as  it  had  been,  self-denying  as  it  tried  to 
be,  would  forever  mar  the  beauty  of  his  wedded  life  for 
Moor.  No  hour  of  it  would  seem  sacred,  no  act,  look,  or 
word  of  hers  entirely  his  own,  nor  any  of  the  dear  delights 
of  home  remain  undarkened  by  the  shadow  of  his  friend. 
She  could  not  speak  yet,  and  turning  her  eyes  to  the  fire, 
she  asked  — 

"  Why  study  me  ?     Have  you  no  better  book  ?  " 

"  None  that  I  love  to  read  so  well  or  have  such  need  to 
understand ;  because,  though  nearest  and  dearest  as  you  are 
to  me,  I  seem  to  know  you  less  than  any  friend  I  have.  I 
do  not  wish  to  wound  you,  dear,  nor  be  exacting  ;  but  since 
we  were  married  you  have  grown  more  shy  than  ever,  and 
the  act  which  should  have  drawn  us  tenderly  together  seems 
to  have  estranged  us.  You  never  talk  now  of  yourself,  or 
ask  me  to  explain  the  working  of  that  busy  mind  of  yours; 


ASLEEP   AND   AWAKE.  227 

and  lately  you  have  sometimes  shunned  me,  as  if  solitude 
were  pleasanter  than  my  society.  Is  it,  Sylvia  ?  " 

"  Sometimes;  I  always  liked  to  be  alone,  you  know." 

She  answered  as  truly  as  she  could,  feeling  that  his  love 
demanded  every  confidence  but  the  one  cruel  one  which 
would  destroy  its  peace  past  help. 

"  I  knew  I  had  a  most  tenacious  heart,  but  I  hojtvl  it 
was  not  a  selfish  one,"  he  sorrowfully  said.  "  Now  I  see 
that  it  is,  and  deeply  regret  that  my  hopeful  spirit,  my  im 
patient  love,  has  brought  disappointment  to  us  both.  I 
should  have  waited  longer,  should  have  been  less  confident 
of  my  own  power  to  win  you,  and  never  let  you  waste  your 
life  in  vain  endeavors  to  be  happy  when  I  was  not  all  to  you 
that  you  expected.  I  should  not  have  consented  to  your 
wish  to  spend  the  winter  here  so  much  alone  with  me.  I 
should  have  known  that  such  a  quiet  home  and  studious 
companion  could  not  have  many  charms  for  a  young  girl 
like  you.  Forgive  me,  I  will  do  better,  and  this  one-sided 
life  of  ours  shall  be  changed ;  for  while  I  have  been  su 
premely  content- you  have  been  miserable." 

It  was  impossible  to  deny  it,  and  with  a  tearless  sob  she 
laid  her  arm  about  his  neck,  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  and 
mutely  confessed  the  truth  of  what  he  said.  The  trouble 
deepened  in  his  face,  but  he  spoke  out  more  cheerfully,  be 
lieving  thai  he  had  found  the  secret  sorrow. 

"  Thank  heaven,  nothing  is  past  mending,  and  we  will 
yet  be  happy.  An  entire  change  shall  be  made  ;  you  shall 
no  longer  devote  yourself  to  me,  but  I  to  you.  Will  you 
go  abroad,  and  forget  this  dismal  home  until  its  rest  grows 
inviting,  Sylvia?  " 

"  No,  Geoffrey,  not  yet.  I  will  learn  to  make  the  home 
pleasant,  I  will  work  harder,  and  leave  no  time  for  ennui 


228  MOODS. 

and  discontent.  I  promised  to  make  your  happiness,  and 
I  can  do  it  better  here  than  anywhere.  Let  me  try 
again." 

"  No,  Sylvia,  you  work  too  hard  already  ;  you  do  every 
thing  with  such  vehemence  you  wear  out  your  body  before 
your  will  is  weary,  and  that  brings  melancholy.  I  am  very 
credulous,  but  when  I  see  that  acts  belie  words  I  cease  to 
believe.  These  months  assure  me  that  you  are  not  happy  ; 
have  I  found  the  secret  thorn  that  frets  you  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer,  for  truth  sfye  could  not,  and  false 
hood  she  would  not,  give  him.  He  rose,  went  walking  to 
and  fro,  searching  memory,  heart,  and  conscience  for  any 
other  cause,  but  found  none,  and  saw  only  one  way  out  of  his 
bewilderment.  He  drew  a  chair  before  her,  sat  down,  and 
looking  at  her  with  the  masterful  expression  dominant  in 
his  face,  asked  briefly  — 

"  Sylvia,  have  I  been  tyrannical,  unjust,  unkind,  since 
you  came  to  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Geoffrey,  too  generous,  too  just,  too  tender  !  " 

"  Have  I  claimed  any  rights  but  those  you  gave  me,  en 
treated  or  demanded  any  sacrifices  knowingly  and  wilfully  ?  " 

"  Never." 

"  Now  I  do  claim  my  right  to  know  your  heart;  I  do 
entreat  and  demand  one  thing,  your  confidence." 

Then  she  felt  that  the  hour  had  come,  and  tried  to  pre 
pare  to  meet  it  as  she  should  by  remembering  that  she  had 
endeavored  prayerfully,  desperately,  despairingly,  to  do  her 
duty,  and  had  failed.  Warwick  was  right,  she  could  not 
forget  him.  There  was  such  vitality  in  the  man  and  in  the 
sentiment  he  inspired,  that  it  endowed  his  memory  with  a 
power  more  potent  than  the  visible  presence  of  her  husband. 
The  knowledge  of  his  love  now  undid  the  work  that  igno- 


ASLEEP   AND   AWAKE.  229 

ranee  had  helped  patience  and  pride  to  achieve  before.  The 
more  she  struggled  to  forget,  the  deeper,  dearer,  grew  the 
yearning  that  must  be  denied,  till  months  of  fruitless  effort 
convinced  her  that  it  was  impossible  to  outlive  a  passion 
more  indomitable  than  will,  or  penitence,  or  perseverance. 
Now  she  saw  the  wisdom  of  Adam's  warning,  and  felt  that 
he  knew  both  his  friend's  heart  and  her  own  better  than 
herself.  Now  she  bitterly  regretted  that  she  had  not 
spoken  out  when  he  was  there  to  help  her,  and  before  the 
least  deceit  had  taken  the  dignity  from  sorrow.  Neverthe 
less,  though  she  trembled  she  resolved ;  and  while  Moor 
spoke  on,  she  made  ready  to  atone  for  past  silence  by  a  per 
fect  loyalty  to  truth. 

"  My  wife,  concealment  is  not  generosity,  for  the  heaviest 
trouble  shared  together  could  not  so  take  the  sweetness  from 
my  life,  the  charm  from  home,  or  make  me  more  miserable 
than  this  want  of  confidence.  It  is  a  double  wrong,  be 
cause  you  not  only  mar  my  peace  but  destroy  your  own  by 
wasting  health  and  happiness  in  vain  endeavors  to  bear 
some  grief  alone.  Your  eye  seldom  meets  mine  now,  your 
words  are  measured,  your  actions  cautious,  your  innocent 
gayety  all  gone.  You  hide  your  heart  from  me,  you  hide 
your  face ;  I  seem  to  have  lost  the  frank  girl  whom  I  loved, 
and  found  a  melancholy  woman,  who  suffers  silently  till  her 
honest  nature  rebels,  and  brings  her  to  confession  in  her 
sleep.  There  is  no  page  of  my  life  which  I  have  not  freely 
shown  you ;  do  t  do  not  deserve  an  equal  candor  ?  Shall 
I  not  receive  it  ?  " 

-Yes." 

"  Sylvia,  what  stands  between  us?" 

"  Adam  Warwick." 

Earnest  as  a  prayer,  brief  as  a  command  had  been  the 
20 


230  MOODS. 

question,  instantaneous  was  the  reply,  as  Sylvia  knelt  down 
before  him,  put  back  the  veil  that  should  never  hide  her 
from  him  any  more,  looked  up  into  her  husband's  face  with 
out  one  shadow  in  her  own,  and  steadily  told  all. 

The  revelation  was  too  utterly  unexpected,  too  difficult  of 
belief  to  be  at  once  accepted  or  understood.  Moor  started 
at  the  name,  then  leaned  forward,  breathless  and  intent,  as 
if  to  seize  the  words  before  they  left  her  lips ;  words  that 
recalled  incidents  and  acts  dark  and  unmeaning  till  the 
spark  of  intelligence  fired  a  long  train  of  memories  and 
enlightened  him  with  terrible  rapidity.  Blinded  by  his 
own  devotion,  the  knowledge  of  Adam's  love  and  loss 
seemed  gages  of  his  fidelity ;  the  thought  that  he  loved 
Sylvia  never  had  occurred  to  him,  and  seemed  incredible 
even  when  her  own  lipe  told  it.  She  had  been  right  in 
fearing  the  effect  this  knowledge  would  have  upon  him.  It 
stung  his  pride,  wounded  his  heart,  and  forever  marred  his 
faith  in  love  and  friendship.  As  the  truth  broke  over  him, 
cold  and  bitter  as  a  billow  of  the  sea,  she  saw  gathering  in 
his  face  the  still  white  grief  and  indignation  of  an  outraged 
spirit,  suffering  with  all  a  woman's  pain,  with  all  a  man's 
intensity  of  passion.  His  eye  grew  fiery  and  stern,  the 
veins  rose  dark  upon  his  forehead,  the  lines  about  the 
mouth  showed  hard  and  grim,  the  whole  face  altered  terri 
bly.  As  she  looked,  Sylvia  thanked  heaven  that  Warwick 
was  not  there  to  feel  the  sudden  atonement  for  an  innocent 
offence  which  his  friend  might  have  exacted  before  this  nat 
ural  but  unworthy  temptation  had  passed  by. 

"  Now  I  have  given  all  my  confidence  though  I  may  have 
broken  both  our  hearts  in  doing  it.  I  do  not  hope  for  pai~ 
don  yet,  but  I  am  sure  of  pity,  and  I  leave  my  fate  in  your 
hands.  Geoffrey,  what  shall  I  do  ?  " 


ASLEEP   AND   AWAKE.  231 

•  Wait  for  me,"  and  putting  her  away,  Moor  left  the 
room. 

Suffering  too  much  in  mind  to  remember  that  she  had  a 
body,  Sylvia  remained  where  she  was,  and  leaning  her  head 
upon  her  hands  tried  to  recall  what  had  passed,  to  nerve 
herself  for  what  was  to  come.  Her  first  sensation  was  one 
of  unutterable  relief.  The  long  struggle  was  over;  the 
haunting  care  was  gone ;  there  was  nothing  now  to  conceal ; 
she  might  be  herself  again,  and  her  spirit  rose  with  some 
thing  of  its  old  elasticity  as  the  heavy  burden  was  removed- 
A  moment  she  enjoyed  this  hard- won  freedom,  then  the 
memory  that  the  burden  was  not  lost  but  laid  on  other 
shoulders,  filled  her  with  an  anguish  too  sharp  to  find  vent 
in  tears,  too  deep  to  leave  any  hope  of  cure  except  in  action. 
But  how  act?  She  had  performed  the  duty  so  long,  so 
vainly  delayed,  and  when  the  first  glow  of  satisfaction 
passed,  found  redoubled  anxiety,  regret,  and  pain  before 
her.  Clear  and  hard  the  truth  stood  there,  and  no  power 
of  hers  could  recall  the  words  that  showed  it  to  her  husband, 
could  give  them  back  the  early  blindness,  or  the  later 
vicissitudes  of  hope  and  fear.  In  the  long  silence  that  filled 
the  room  she  had  time  to  calm  her  perturbation  and  comfort 
her  remorse  by  the  vague  but  helpful  belief  which  seldom 
deserts  sanguine  spirits,  that  something,  as  yet  unseen  and 
unsuspected,  would  appear  to  heal  the  breach,  to  show  what 
was  to  be  done,  and  to  make  all  happy  in  the  end. 

Where  Moor  went  or  how  long  he  stayed  Sylvia  never 
knew,  but  when  at  length  he  came,  her  first  glance  showed 
her  that  pride  is  as  much  to  be  dreaded  as  passion.  No 
gold  is  without  alloy,  and  now  she  saw  the  shadow  of  a 
nature  which  had  seemed  all  sunshine.  She  knew  he  was 
very  proud,  but  never  thought  to  be  the  cause  of  its  saddest 


232  MOODS. 

manifestation;  one  which  showed  her  that  its  presence 
could  make  the  silent  sorrow  of  a  just -and  gentle  man  a 
harder  trial  to  sustain  than  the  hottest  anger,  the  bitterest 
reproach.  Scarcely  paler  than  when  he  went,  there  was  no 
sign  of  violent  emotion  in  his  countenance.  His  eye  shone 
keen  and  dark,  an  anxious  fold  crossed  his  forehead,  and  a 
melancholy  gravity  replaced  the  cheerful  serenity  his  lace 
once  wore.  Wherein  the.  alteration  lay  Sylvia  could  not 
tell,  but  over  the  whole  man  some  subtle  change  had  passed. 
The  sudden  frost  which  had  blighted  the  tenderest  aftecfton 
of  his  life  seemed  to  have  left  its  chill  behind,  robbing  his 
manner  of  its  cordial  charm,  his  voice  of  its  heartsome  ring, 
and  giving  him  the  look  of  one  who  sternly  said  —  "  I  must 
suffer,  but  it  shall  be  alone." 

Cold  and  quiet,  he  stood  regarding  her  with  a  strange 
expression,  as  if  endeavoring  to  realize  the  truth,  and  see 
in  her  not  his  wife  but  Warwick's  lover.  Oppressed  by  the 
old  fear,  now  augmented  by  a  measureless  regret,  she  could 
only  look  up  at  him  feeling  that  her  husband  had  become 
her  judge.  Yet  as  she  looked  she  was  conscious  of  a  mo 
mentary  wonder  at  the  seeming  transposition  of  character 
in  the  two  so  near  and  dear  to  her.  Strong-hearted  War 
wick  wept  like  any  child,  but  accepted  his  disappoint 
ment  without  complaint  and  bore  it  manfully.  Moor,  from 
whom  she  would  sooner  have  expected  such  demonstration, 
grew  stormy  first,  then  stern,  as  she  once  believed  his  friend 
would  have  done.  She  forgot  that  Moor's  pain  was  the 
sharper,  his  wound  the  deeper,  for  the  patient  hope  cheiished 
so  long  ;  the  knowledge  that  he  never  had  been,  never  could 
be  loved  as  he  loved  ;  the  sense  of  wrong  that  could  n^t  but 
burn  even  in  the  meekest  heart  at  such  a  late 
such  an  entire  loss. 


ASLEEP   AND   AWAKE.  233 

Sylvia  spoke  first,  not  audibly,  but  with  a  little  gesture  of 
supplication,  a  glance  of  sorrowful  submission.  He  answered 
both,  not  by  lamentation  or  reproach,  but  by  just  enough  of 
his  accustomed  tenderness  in  touch  and  tone  to  make  her 
tears  break  forth,  as  he  placed  her  in  the  ancient  chair  so 
often  occupied  together,  took  the  one  opposite,  and  sweep 
ing  a  clear  space  on  the  table  between  them,  looked  across 
it  with  the  air  of  a  man  bent  on  seeing  his  way  and  follow 
ing  it  at  any  cost. 

"  Now  Sylvia,  I  can  listen  as  I  should." 

"  Oh,  Geoffrey,  what  can  I  say?" 

11  Kepeat  all  you  have  already  told  me.  I  only  gathered 
one  fact  then,  now  I  want  the  circumstances,  for  I  find  this 
confession  difficult  of  belief." 

Perhaps  no  sterner  expiation  could  have  been  required  of 
her  than  to  sit  there,  face  to  face,  eye  to  eye,  and  tell  again 
that  little  history  of  thwarted  love  and  fruitless  endeavor. 
Excitement  had  given  her  courage  for  the  first  confession, 
now  it  was  torture  to  carefully  repeat  what  had  poured 
freely  from  her  lips  before.  But  she  did  it,  glad  to  prove 
her  penitence  by  any  test  he  might  apply.  Tears  often 
blinded  her,  uncontrollable  emotion  often  arrested  her  ;  and 
more  than  once  she  turned  on  him  a  beseeching  look,  which 
asked  as  plainly  as  words,  "  Must  I  go  on  ?  " 

Intent  on  learning  all,  Moor  was  unconscious  of  the  trial 
he  imposed,  unaware  that  the  change  in  himself  was  the 
keenest  reproach  he  could  have  made,  and  still  with  a  per 
sistency  as  gentle  as  inflexible,  he  pursued  his  purpose  to 
the  end.  When  great  drops  rolled  down  her  cheeks  he 
dried  them  silently ;  when  she  paused,  he  waited  till  she 
calmed  herself;  and  when  she  spoke  he  listened  with  few 
interruptions  but  a  question  now  and  then.  Occasionally  a 


234  MOODS. 

sudden  flush  of  passionate  pain  swept  across  his  face,  as 
some  phrase,  implying  rather  than  expressing  Warwick's 
love  or  Sylvia's  longing,  escaped  the  narrator's  lips,  and 
when  she  described  their  parting  on  that  very  spot,  his  eye 
went  from  her  to  the  hearth  her  words  seemed  to  make 
desolate,  with  a  glance  she  never  could  forget.  But  when 
the  last  question  was  answered,  the  last  appeal  for  pardon 
brokenly  uttered,  nothing  but  the  pale  pride  remained ;  and 
his  voice  was  cold  and  quiet  as  his  mien. 

"  Yes,  it  is  this  which  has  baffled  and  kept  me  groping  in 
the  dark  so  long,  for  I  wholly  trusted  what  I  wholly  loved." 

"  Alas,  it  was  that  very  confidence  that  made  my  task  seem 
so  necessary  and  so  hard.  How  often  I  longed  to  go  to  you 
with  my  great  trouble  as  I  used  to  do  with  lesser  ones. 
But  here  you  would  suffer  more  than  I ;  and  having  done 
the  wrong,  it  was  for  me  to  pay  the  penalty.  So  like 
many  another  weak  yet  willing  soul,  I  tried  to  keep  you 
happy  at  all  costs." 

"  One  frank  word  before  I  married  you  would  have  spared 
us  this.  Could  you  not  foresee  the  end  and  dare  to  speak 
it,  Sylvia?" 

"  I  see  it  now,  I  did  not  then,  else  I  would  have  spoken 
as  freely  as  I  speak  to-night.  I  thought  I  had  outlived  iny 
love  for  Adam ;  it  seemed  kind  to  spare  you  a  knowledge 
that  would  disturb  your  friendship,  so  though  I  told  the 
truth,  I  did  not  tell  it  all.  I  thought  temptations  came 
from  without ;  I  could  withstand  such,  and  I  did,  even 
when  it  wore  Adam's  shape.  This  temptation  came  so  sud 
denly,  seemed  so  harmless,  generous  and  just,  that  I  yielded 
to  it  unconscious  that  it  was  one.  Surely  I  deceived  myself 
as  cruelly  as  I  did  you,  and  God  knows  I  have  tried  to 
atone  for  it  when  time  taught  me  my  fatal  error." 


\SLEEP   AND   AWAKE.  235 

"  Poor  child,  it  was  too  soon  for  you  to  play  the  perilous 
game  of  hearts.  I  should  have  known  it,  and  left  you  to 
the  safe  and  simple  joys  of  girlhood.  Forgive  me  that  I 
have  kept  you  a  prisoner  so  long ;  take  off  the  fetter  I  put 
on,  and  go,  Sylvia." 

"  No,  do  not  put  me  from  you  yet ;  do  not  think  that  I 
can  hurt  you  so,  and  then  be  glad  to  leave  you  suffering 
alone.  Look  like  your  kind  self  if  you  can ;  talk  to  me 
as  you  used  to  ;  let  me  show  you  my  heart  and  you  will  see 
how  large  a  place  you  fill  in  it.  Let  me  begin  again,  for 
now  the  secret  is  told  there  is  no  fear  to  keep  out  love ;  and 
I  can  give  my  whole  strength  to  learning  the  lesson  you 
have  tried  so  patiently  to  teach." 

"  You  cannot,  Sylvia.  We  are  as  much  divorced  as  if 
judge  and  jury  had  decided  the  righteous  but  hard  separation 
for  us.  You  can  never  be  a  wife  to  me  with  an  unconquer 
able  affection  in  your  heart ;  I  can  never  be  your  husband 
while  the  shadow  of  a  fear  remains.  I  will  have  all  or 
nothing." 

"  Adam  foretold  this.  He  knew  you  best,  and  I  should 
have  followed  the  brave  counsel  he  gave  me  long  ago.  Oh, 
if  he  were  only  here  to  help  us  now !  " 

The  desire  broke  from  Sylvia's  lips  involuntarily  as  she 
turned  for  strength  to  the  strong  soul  that  loved  her.  But 
it  was  like  wind  to  smouldering  fire  ;  a  pang  of  jealousy 
wrung  Moor's  heart,  and  he  spoke  out  with  a  flash  of  the 
eye  that  startled  Sylvia  more  than  the  rapid  change  of 
voice  and  manner. 

"  Hush !  Say  anything  of  yourself  or  me,  and  I  can 
bear  it,  but  spare  me  the  sound  of  Adam's  name  to-night. 
A  man's  nature  is  not  forgiving  like  a  woman's,  and  the 
best  of  us  harbor  impulses  you  know  nothing  of.  If  I  am 


236  MOODS. 

to  lose  wife,  friend,  and  home,  for  God's  sake  leave  me  my 
self-respect" 

All  the  coldness  and  pride  passed  from  Moor's  face  as 
the  climax  of  his  sorrow  came  ;  with  an  impetuous  gesture 
he  threw  his  arms  across  the  table,  and  laid  down  his  head 
in  a  paroxysm  of  tearless  suffering  such  as  men  only  know. 

How  Sylvia  longed  to  speak!  But  what  consolation 
could  the  tenderest  words  supply?  She  searched  for  some 
alleviating  suggestion,  some  happier  hope ;  none  came. 
Her  eye  turned  imploringly  to  the  pictured  Fates  above  her 
as  if  imploring  them  to  aid  her.  But  they  looked  back  at 
her  inexorably  dumb,  and  instinctively  her  thought  passed 
beyond  them  to  the  Buler  of  all  fates,  asking  the  help  which 
never  is  refused.  No  words  embodied  her  appeal,  no  sound 
expressed  it,  only  a  voiceless  cry  from  the  depths  of  a  con 
trite  spirit,  owning  its  weakness,  making  known  its  want. 
She  prayed  for  submission,  but  her  deeper  need  was  seen, 
and  when  she  asked  for  patience  to  endure,  Heaven  sent  her 
power  to  act,  and  put  of  this  sharp  trial  brought  her  a  bet 
ter  strength  and  clearer  knowledge  of  herself  than  years  of 
smoother  experience  could  have  bestowed.  A  sense  of  secu 
rity,  of  stability,  came  to  her  as  that  entire  reliance  assured 
her  by  its  all- sustaining  power  that  she  had  found  what 
she  most  needed  to  make  life  clear  to  her  and  duty  sweet. 
With  her  face  in  her  hands,  she  sat,  forgetful  that  she  was 
not  alone,  as  in  that  brief  but  precious  moment  she  felt  the 
exceeding  comfort  of  a  childlike  faith  in  the  one  Friend 
who,  when  we  are  deserted  by  all,  even  by  ourselves,  puts 
forth  His  hand  and  gathers  us  tenderly  to  Himself. 

Her  husband's  voice  recalled  her,  and  looking  up  she 
showed  him  such  an  earnest,  patient  countenance,  it  touched 
him  like  an  unconscious  rebuke.  The  first  tears  she  had 


ASLEEP   AND   AWAKE.  237 

seen  rose  to  his  eyes,  and  all  the  old  tenderness  came  back 
into  his  voice,  softening  the  dismissal  which  had  been  more 
coldly  begun. 

"  Dear,  silence  and  rest  are  best  for  both  of  us  to-night. 
We  cannot  treat  this  trouble  as  we  should  till  we  are  calmer ; 
then  we  will  take  counsel  how  soonest  to  end  what  never 
should  have  been  begun.  Forgive  me,  pray  for  me,  and  in 
sleep  forget  me  for  a  little  while." 

He  held  the  door  for  her,  but  as  she  passed  Sylvia  lifted 
her  face  for  the  good  night  caress  without  which  she  had 
never  left  him  since  she  became  his  wife.  She  did  not 
speak,  but  her  eye  humbly  besought  this  token  of  forgive 
ness  ;  nor  was  it  denied."  Moor  laid  his  hand  upon  her  lips, 
saying,  "  these  are  Adam's  now,"  and  kissed  her  on  the 
forehead. 

Such  a  little  thing :  But  it  overcame  Sylvia  with  the 
sorrowful  certainty  of  the  loss  which  had  befallen  both,  and 
she  crept  away,  feeling  herself  an  exile  from  the  heart 
and  home  whose  happy  mistress  she  could  never  be  again. 

Moor  watched  the  little  figure  -going  upward,  and  weep 
ing  softly  as  it  went,  as  if  he  echoed  the  sad  "  never  any 
more,"  which  those  tears  expressed,  and  when  it  vanished 
with  a  backward  look,  shut  himself  in  alone  with  his  great 
sorrow. 


CHAPTER  XVHI. 

WHAT   NEXT? 

SYLVIA  laid  her  head  down  on  her  pillow,  believing  that 
this  night  would  be  the  longest,  saddest  she  had  ever  known. 
But  before  she  had  time  to  sigh  for  sleep  it  wrapt  her  in  its 
comfortable  arms,  and  held  her  till  day  broke.  Sunshine 
streamed  across  the  room,  and  early  birds  piped  on  the  bud 
ding  boughs  that  swayed  before  the  window.  But  no  morn 
ing  smile  saluted  her,  no  morning  flower  awaited  her,  and 
nothing  but  a  little  note  lay  on  the  unpressed  pillow  at  her 
side. 

"  Sylvia,  I  have  gone  away  to  Faith,  because  this  proud, 
resentful  spirit  of  mine  must  be  subdued  before  I  meet  you. 
I  leave  that  behind  me  which  will  speak  to  you  more  kindly, 
calmly  than  I  can  now,  and  show  you  that  my  effort  has 
been  equal  to  my  failure.  There  is  nothing  for  me  to  do 
but  submit ;  manfully  if  I  must,  meekly  if  I  can  ;  and  this 
short  exile  will  prepare  me  for  the  longer  one  to  come. 
Take  counsel  with  those  nearer  and  dearer  to  you  than  my 
self,  and  secure  the  happiness  which  I  have  so  ignorantly 
delayed,  but  cannot  wilfully  destroy.  God  be  with  you, 
and  through  all  that  is  and  is  to  come,  remember  that  you 
remain  beloved  forever  in  the  heart  of  Geoffrey  Moor." 

Sylvia  had  known  many  sad  uprisings,  but  never  a  sadder 
one  than  this,  and  the  hours  that  followed  aged  her  more  than 


WHAT   NEXT?  239 

any  year  had  done.  All  day  she  wandered  aimlessly  to  and 
fro,  for  the  inward  conflict  would  not  let  her  rest.  The 
house  seemed  hflme  no  longer  when  its  presiding  genius  was 
gone,  and  everywhere  some  token  of  his  former  -presence 
touched  her  with  its  mute  reproach. 

She  asked  no  counsel  of  her  family,  for  well  she  knew  the 
outburst  of  condemnation,  incredulity,  and  grief  that  would 
assail  her  there.  They  could  not  help  her  yet ;  they  would 
only  augment  perplexities,  weaken  convictions,  and  distract 
her  mind.  When  she  was  sure  of  herself  she  would  tell 
them,  endure  their  indignation  and  regret,  and  steadily  ex 
ecute  the  new  purpose,  whatever  it  should  be. 

To  many  it  might  seem  an  easy  task  to  break  the  bond 
that  burdened  and  assume  the  tie  that  blessed.  But  Sylvia 
had  grown  wise  in  self-knowledge,  timorous  through  self- 
delusion  ;  therefore  the  greater  the  freedom  given  her  the 
more  she  hesitated  to  avail  herself  of  it  The  nobler  each 
friend  grew  as  she  turned  from  one  to  the  other,  the  more 
impossible  seemed  the  decision,  for  generous  spirit  and  lov 
ing  heart  contended  for  the  mastery,  yet  neither  won.  She 
knew  that  Moor  had  put  her  from  him  never  to  be  recalled 
till  some  miracle  was  wrought  that  should  make  her  truly 
his.  This  renunciation  showed  her  how  much  he  had  be 
come  to  her,  how  entirely  she  had  learned  to  lean  upon  him, 
and  how  great  a  boon  such  perfect  love  was  in  itself.  Even 
the  prospect  of  a  life  with  Warwick  brought  forebodings 
with  its  hope.  Reason  made  her  listen  to  many  doubts 
which  hitherto  passion  had  suppressed.  Would  she  never 
tire  of  his  unrest  ?  Could  she  fill  so  large  a  heart  and  give 
it  power  as  well  as  warmth?  Might  not  the  two  wills 
clash,  the  ardent  natures  inflame  one  another,  the  stronger 
intellect  exhaust  the  weaker,  and  disappointment  come 


240  MOODS. 

again  ?  And  as  she  asked  these  questions,  conscience,  the 
monitor  whom  no  bribe  can  tempt,  no  threat  silence,  inva 
riably  answered  "Yes." 

But  chief  among  the  cares  that  beset  her  was  one  that 
grew  more  burdensome  with  thought.  By  her  own  will  she 
had  put  her  liberty  into  another's  keeping ;  law  confirmed 
the  act,  gospel  sanctioned  the  vow,  and  it  could  only  be 
redeemed  by  paying  the  costly  price  demanded  of  those  who 
own  that  they  have  drawn  a  blank  in  the  lottery  of  mar 
riage.  Public  opinion  is  a  grim  ghost  that  daunts  the 
bravest,  and  Sylvia  knew  that  trials  lay  before  her  from 
which  she  would  shrink  and  suffer,  as  only  a  woman  sensi 
tive  and  proud  as  she  could  shrink  and  suffer.  Once  apply 
this  remedy  and  any  tongue  would  have  the  power  to  wound, 
any  eye  to  insult  with  pity  or  contempt,  any  stranger  to 
criticise,  or  condemn,  and  she  would  have  no  means  of  re 
dress,  no  place  of  refuge,  even  in  that  stronghold,  Adam's 
heart. 

All  that  dreary  day  she  wrestled  with  these  stubborn 
facts,  but  could  neither  mould  nor  modify  them  as  she 
would,  and  evening  found  her  spent,  but  not  decided.  Too 
excited  for  sleep,  yet  too  weary  for  exertion,  she  turned 
bedward,  hoping  that  the  darkness  and  the  silence  of  night 
would  bring  good  counsel,  if  not  rest. 

Till  now  she  had  shunned  the  library  as  one  shuns  the 
spot  where  one  has  suffered  most.  But  as  she  passed  the 
open  door  the  gloom  that  reigned  within  seemed  typical  of 
that  which  had  fallen  on  its  absent  master,  and  following 
the  impulse  of  the  moment  Sylvia  went  in  to  light  it  with 
the  little  glimmer  of  her  lamp.  Nothing  had  been  touched, 
for  no  hand  but  her  own  preserved  the  order  of  this  room, 
and  all  household  duties  had  been  neglected  on  that  day. 


WHAT   NEXT?  241 

The  old  chair  stood  where  she  had  left  it,  and  over  its  arm 
was  thrown  the  velvet  coat,  half  dressing-gown,  half  blouse, 
that  Moor  liked  to  wear  at  this  household  trysting-place. 
Sylvia  bent  to  fold  it  smoothly  as  it  hung,  and  feeling  that 
she  must  solace  herself  with  some  touch  of  tenderness,  laid 
her  cheek  against  the  soft  garment,  whispering  "  Good 
night."  Something  glittered  on  the  cushion  of  the  chair, 
and  looking  nearer  she  found  a  steel-clasped  book,  upon 
the  cover  of  which  lay  a  dead  heliotrope,  a  little  key. 

It  was  Moor's  Diary,  and  now  she  understood  that  pass 
age  of  the  note  which  had  been  obscure  before.  "  I  leave 
that  behind  me  which  will  speak  to  you  more  kindly,  calm 
ly,  than  I  can  now,  and  show  you  that  my  effort  has  been 
equal  to  my  failure."  She  had  often  begged  to  read  it, 
threatened  to  pick  the  lock,  and  felt  the  strongest  curiosity 
to  learn  what  was  contained  in  the  long  entries  that  he 
daily  made.  Her  requests  had  always  been  answered  with 
the  promise  of  entire  possession  of  the  book  when  the  year 
was  out.  Now  he  gave  it,  though  the  year  was  not  gone, 
and  many  leaves  were  yet  unfilled.  He  thought  she  would 
come  to  this  room  first,  would  see  her  morning  .flower  laid 
ready  for  her,  and,  sitting  in  what  they  called  their  Refuge, 
would  draw  some  comfort  for  herself,  some  palliation  for  his 
innocent  offence,  from  the  record  so  abruptly  ended. 

She  took  it,  went  away  to  her  own  room,  unlocked  the 
short  romance  of  his  wedded  life,  and  found  her  husband's 
heart  laid  bare  before  her. 

It  was  a  strange  and  solemn  thing  to  look  so  deeply  into 
the  private  experience  of  a  fellow -being  ;  to  trace  the  birth 
and  progress  of  purposes  and  passions,  the  motives  of  action, 
the  secret  aspirations,  the  besetting  sins  that  made  up  the 
inner  life  he  had  been  leading  beside  her.  Moor  wrote 

9.1 


242  MOODS. 

with  an  eloquent  sincerity,  because  he  had  put  himself  into 
his  book,  as  if  feeling  the  need  of  some  confidante  he  had 
chosen  the  only  one  that  pardons  egotism.  Here,  too, 
Sylvia  saw  her  chameleon  self,  etched  with  loving  care,  en 
dowed  with  all  gifts  and  graces,  studied  with  unflagging 
zeal,  and  made  the  idol  of  a  life.  I 

Often  a  tuneful  spirit  seemed  to  assert  itself,  and  passing 
from  smooth  prose  to  smoother  poetry,  sonnet,  song,  or 
psalm,  flowed  down  the  page  in  cadences  stately,  sweet,  or 
solemn,  filling  the  reader  with  delight  at  the  discovery  of  a 
gift  so  genuine,  yet  so  shyly  folded  up  within  itself,  uncon 
scious  that  its  modesty  was  the  surest  token  of  its  worth. 
More  than  once  Sylvia  laid  her  face  into  the  book,  and 
added  her  involuntary  comment  on  some  poem  or  passage 
made  pathetic  by  the  present ;  and  more  than  once  paused 
to  wonder,  with  exceeding  wonder,  why  she  could  not  give* 
such  genius  and  affection  its  reward.  Had  she  needed  any 
confirmation  of  the  fact  so  hard  to  teach  herself,  this  open 
ing  of  his  innermost  would  have  given  it.  For  while  she 
bitterly  grieved  over  the  death-blow  she  had  dealt  his  happy 
hope,  it  no  longer  seemed  a  possibility  to  change  her  stub 
born  heart,  or  lessen  by  a  fraction  the  debt  which  she  sadly 
felt  could  only  be  repaid  in  friendship's  silver,  not  love's 
gold. 

All  night  she  lay  there  like  some  pictured  Magdalene, 
purer  but  as  penitent  as  Correggio's  Mary,  with  the  book, 
the  lamp,  the  melancholy  eyes,  the  golden  hair  that  painters 
love.  All  night  she  read,  gathering  courage,  not  consola 
tion,  from  those  pages,  for  seeing  what  she  was  not  showed 
her  what  she  might  become  ;  and  when  she  turned  the  little 
key  upon  that  story  without  an  end,  Sylvia  the  girl  waa 
dead,  but  Sylvia  the  woman  had  begun  td  live. 


WHAT    NEXT?  213 

Lying  in  the  rosy  hush  of  dawn,  there  came  to  her  a 
sadden  memory  — 

"  If  ever  you  need  help  that  Geoffrey  cannot  give,  re- 
inember  cousin  Faith.  ; 

This  was  the  hour  Faith  foresaw ;  Moor  had  gone  to  her 
with  his  trouble,  why  not  follow,  and  let  this  woman,  wise, 
discreet,  and  gentle,  show  her  what  should  come  next  ? 

The  newly  risen  sun  saw  Sylvia  away  upon  her  journey  to 
Faith's  home  among  the  hills.  She  lived  alone,  a  cheerful, 
busy,  solitary  soul,  demanding  little  of  others,  yet  giving 
fieely  to  whomsoever  asked  an  alms  of  her. 

Sylvia  found  the  gray  cottage  nestled  in  a  hollow  of  the 
mountain  side  ;  a  pleasant  hermitage,  secure  and  still.  Mis 
tress  and  maid  composed  the  household,  but  none  of  the 
gloom  of  isolation  darkened  the  sunshine  that  pervaded  it ; 
peace  seemed  to  sit  upon  its  threshold,  content  to  brood 
beneath  its  eaves,  and  the  atmosphere  of  home  to  make  it 
beautiful. 

When  some  momentous  purpose  or  event  absorbs  us  we 
break  through  fears  and  formalities,  act  out  ourselves  for 
getful  of  reserve,  and  use  the  plainest  phrases  to  express 
emotions  which  need  no  ornament  and  little  aid  from  lan 
guage.  Sylvia  illustrated  this  fact,  then  ;  for,  without  hesi 
tation  or  embarrassment,  she  entered  Miss  Dane's  door, 
called  no  servant  to  announce  her,  but  went,  as  if  by  in 
stinct,  straight  to  the  room  where  Faith  sat  alone,  and  with 
the  simplest  greeting  asked  — 

"  Is  Geoffrey  here  ?  " 

"  He  was  an  hour  ago,  and  will  be  an  hour  hence.  I 
sent  him  out  to  rest,  for  he  cannot  sleep.  I  am  glad  you 
came  to  him ;  he  has  not  learned  to  do  without  you  yet." 

With  no  bustle  of  surprise  or  sympathy  Faith  put  away 


244  MOODS. 

her  work,  took  off  the  hat  and  cloak,  drew  her  guest  beside 
her  on  the  couch  before  the  one  deep  window  looking  down 
the  valley,  and  gently  chafing  the  chilly  hands  in  warm 
ones,  said  nothing  more  till  Sylvia  spoke. 

"  He  has  told  you  all  the  wrong  I  have  done  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  found  a  little  comfort  here.  Do  you  need  con 
solation  also  ?  " 

"Can  you  ask?  But  I  need  something  more,  and  no 
one  can  give  it  to  me  so  well  as  you.  I  want  to  be  set 
right,  .to  hear  things  called  by  their  true  names,  to  be  taken 
out  of  myself  and  made  to  see  why  I  am  always  doing 
wroag  while  trying  to  do  well." 

"  Your  father,  sister,  or  brother  are  fitter  for  that  task 
than  I.  Have  you  tried  them  ?  " 

"  No,  and  I  will  not.  They  love  me,  but  they  could  not 
help  me ;  for  they  would  beg  me  to  conceal  if  I  cannot  for 
get,  to  endure  if  I  cannot  conquer,  and  abide  by  my  mistake 
at  all  costs.  That  is  not  the  help  I  want.  I  desire  to 
know  the  one  just  thing  to  be  done,  and  to  be  made  brave 
enough  to  do  it,  though  friends  lament,  gossips  clamor,  and 
the  heavens  fall.  I  am  in  earnest  now.  Kate  me  sharply, 
drag  out  my  weaknesses,  shame  my  follies,  show  no  mercy 
to  my  selfish  hopes ;  and  when  I  can  no  longer  hide  from 
myself  put  me  in  the  way  I  should  go,  and  I  will  follow  it 
though  my  feet  blee<3  every  step." 

She  was  in  earnest  low,  terribly  so,  but  still  Faith  drew 
back,  though  her  compassionate  face  belied  her  hesitating 
words. 

"  Go  to  Adam ;  who  wiser  or  more  just  than  he  ?  " 

"  I  cannot.  He,  as  well  as  Geoffrey,  loves  me  too  well 
to  decide  for  me.  You  stand  between  them,  wise  as  the 
one,  gentle  as  the  other,  and  you  do  not  care  for  me  enough 


WHAT   NEXT?  245 

to  let  affection  hoodwink  reason.  Faith,  you  bade  me  come ; 
do  not  oast  me  off,  for  if  you  shut  your  heart  against  me  I 
know  not  where  to  go." 

Despairing  she  spoke,  disconsolate  she  looked,  and  Faith'i 
reluctance  vanished.  The  maternal  aspect  returned,  hex 
voice  resumed  its  warmth,  her  eye  its  benignity,  and  Sylvia 
was  reassured  before  a  word  was  spoken. 

"  I  do  not  cast  you  off,  nor  shut  my  heart  against  you. 
I  only  hesitated  to  assume  such  responsibility,  and  shrunk 
from  the  task  because  of  compassion,  not  coldness.  Sit 
here,  and  tell  me  all  your  trouble,  Sylvia  ?  " 

"  That  is  so  kind !  It  seems  quite  natural  to  turn  to  you 
as  if  I  had  a  claim  upon  you.  Let  me  have,  and  if  you 
can,  love  me  a  little,  because  I  have  no  mother,  and  need 
one  very  much." 

"  My  child,  you  shall  not  need  one  any  more." 

"  I  feel  that,  and  am  comforted  already.  Faith,  if  you 
were  me,  and  stood  where  I  stand,  beloved  by  two  men, 
either  of  whom  any  woman  might  be  proud  to  call  husband, 
putting  self  away,  to  which  should  you  cleave  ?  " 

"  To  neither." 

Sylvia  paled  and  trembled,  as  if  the  oracle  she  had  in 
voked  was  an  unanswerable  voice  pronouncing  the  inevi 
table.  She  watched  Faith's  countenance  a  moment,  grop 
ing  for  her  meaning,  failed  to  find  it,  and  whispered  below 
her  breath  — 

41  Can  I  know  why?" 

"  Because  your  hu-sband  is,  your  lover  should  be  your  friend 
and  nothing  more.  You  have  been  hardly  taught  the  lesson 
many  have  to  learn,  that  friendship  cannot  fill  love's  place, 
yet  should  be  kept  inviolate,  and  served  as  an  austerer  mis 
tress  who  can  make  life  very  beautiful  to  such  as  feel  hei 
2io 


246  MOODS. 

worth  and  deserve  her  delights.  Adam  taught  me  this, 
for  though  Geoffrey  took  you  from  him,  he  still  held  fast 
his  friend,  letting  no  disappointment  sour,  no  envy  alienate, 
no  resentment  destroy  the  perfect  friendship  years  of  mutual 
fidelity  have  built  up  between  them." 

"Yes!"  cried  Sylvia,  "howl  have  honored  Adam  for 
that  steadfastness,  and  how  I  have  despised  myself,  because 
I  could  not  be  as  wise  and  faithful  in  the  earlier,  safer  sen 
timent  I  felt  for  Geoffrey." 

"  Be  wise  and  faithful  now ;  cease  to  be  the  wife,  but  re 
main  the  friend  ;  freely  give  all  you  can  with  honesty,  not 
one  jot  more." 

"  Never  did  man  possess  a  truer  friend  than  I  will  be  to 
him  —  if  he  will  let  me.  But,  Faith,  if  I  may  be  that  to 
Geoffrey,  may  I  not  be  something  nearer  and  dearer  to 
Adam  ?  Would  not  you  dare  to  hope  it,  were  you  me  ?  " 

"No,  Sylvia,  never." 

"Why  not?" 

"  If  you  were  blind,  a  cripple,  or  cursed  with  some  in 
curable  infirmity  of  body,  would  not  you  hesitato  to  bind 
yourself  and  your  affliction  to  another  ?  " 

"  You  know  I  should  not  only  hesitate,  but  utterly  re 
fuse." 

"  I  do  know  it,  therefore  I  venture  to  show  you  why,  ac 
cording  to  my  belief,  you  should  not  marry  Adam.  I  can 
not  tell  you  as  I  ought,  but  only  try  to  show  you  where  to 
seek  the  explanation  of  my  seeming  harsh  advice.  There 
ai\j  diseases  more  subtle  and  dangerous  than  any  that  vex 
our  flesh ;  diseases  that  should  be  as  carefully  cured  if  cur 
able,  as  inexorably  prevented  from  spreading  as  any  malady 
we  dread.  A  paralyzed  will,  a  morbid  mind,  a  mad  tem 
per,  a  tainted  heart,  a  blind  soul,  are  afflictions  to  be  as 


WHAT    NEXT?  247 

much  regarded  as  bodily  infirmities.  Nay,  more,  inas 
much  as  souls  are  of  greater  value  than  perishable  flesh. 
Where  this  is  religiously  taught,  believed,  and  practised, 
marriage  becomes  in  truth  a  sacrament  blessed  of  God; 
children  thank  parents  for  the  gift  of  life ;  parents  see  in 
children  living  satisfactions  and  rewards,  not  reproaches  or 
retributions  doubly  heavy  to  be  borne,  for  the  knowledge 
that  where  two  sinned,  many  must  inevitably  suffer." 

"  You  try  to  tell  me  gently,  Faith,  but  I  see  that  you 
consider  me  one  of  the  innocent  unfortunates,  who  have  no 
right  to  marry  till  they  be  healed,  perhaps  never.  I  have 
dimly  felt  this  during  the  past  year,  now  I  know  it,  and 
thank  God  that  I  have  no  child  to  reproach  me  hereafter, 
for  bequeathing  it  the  mental  ills  I  have  not  yet  outlived." 

"  Dear  Sylvia,  you  are  an  exceptional  case  in  all  respects, 
because  an  extreme  one.  The  ancient  theology  of  two  con 
tending  spirits  in  one  body,  is  strangely  exemplified  in  you, 
for  each  rules  by  turns,  and  each  helps  or  hinders  as  moods 
and  circumstances  lead.  Even  in  the  great  event  of  a  wo 
man's  life,  you  were  thwarted  by  conflicting  powers ;  im 
pulse  and  ignorance,  passion  and  pride,  hope  and  despair. 
Now  you  stand  at  the  parting  of  the  ways,  looking  wistfully 
along  the  pleasant  one  where  Adam  seems  to  beckon,  while 
I  point  down  the  rugged  one  where  I  have  walked,  and 
though  my  heart  aches  as  I  do  it,  counsel  you  as  I  would  a 
daughter  of  my  own." 

"  I  thank  you,  I  will  follow  you,  but  my  life  looks  very 
barren  if  I  must  relinquish  my  desire." 

"  Not  as  barren  as  if  you  possessed  your  desire,  and 
found  in  it  another  misery  and  mistake.  Could  you  have 
loved  Geoffrey,  it  might  have  been  safe  and  well  with  you ; 
loving  Adam,  it  is  neither.  Let  me  show  you  why.  He  is 


248  MOODS. 

an  exception  like  yourself;  perhaps  that  explains  your  at. 
traction  for  each  other.  In  him  the  head  rules,  in  Geoffrey 
the  heart.  The  one  criticises,  the  other  loves  mankind. 
Geoffrey  is  proud  and  private  in  all  that  lies  nearest  him, 
clings  to  persons,  and  is  faithful  as  a  woman.  Adam  has 
only  the  pride  of  an  intellect  which  tests  all  things,  and 
abides  by  its  own  insight.  He  clings  to  principles ;  persons 
are  but  animated  facts  or  ideas ;  he  seizes,  searches,  uses 
them,  and  when  they  have  no  more  for  him,  drops  them  like 
the  husk,  whose  kernel  he  has  secured ;  passing  on  to  find 
and  study  other  samples  without  regret,  but  with  unabated 
zeal.  For  life  to  him  is  perpetual  progress,  and  he  obeys 
the  law  of  his  nature  as  steadily  as  sun  or  sea.  Is  not  this 
so?" 

"  All  true  ;  what  more,  Faith?" 

"  Few  women,  if  wise,  would  dare  to  marry  this  man, 
noble  and  love-worthy  as  he  is,  till  time  has  tamed  and 
experience  developed  him.  £ven  then  the  risk  is  great,  for 
he  demands  and  unconsciously  absorbs  into  himself  the 
personality  of  others,  making  large  returns,  but  of  a  kind 
which  only  those  as  strong,  sagacious,  and  steadfast  as 
himself  can  receive  and  adapt  to  their  individual  uses, 
without  being  overcome  and  'possessed.  That  none  of  us 
should  be,  except  by  the  Spirit  stronger  than  man,  purer 
than  woman.  You  feel,  though  you  do  not  understand  this 
power.  You  know  that  his  presence  excites,  yet  wearies 
you;  that,  while  you  love,  you  fear  him,  and  even  when 
you  long  to  be  all  in  all  to  him,  you  doubt  your  ability  to 
make  his  happiness.  Am  I  not  right  ?  " 

"  I  must  say,  yes." 

"  Then,  it  is  scarcely  necessary  for  me  to  tell  you  that  I 
think  this  unequal  marriage  would  be  but  a  brief  one  for 


WHAT    NEXT?  249 

you ;  bright  at  its  beginning,  dark  at  its  end.  With  him 
you  would  exhaust  yourself  in  passionate  endeavors  to  fol 
low  where  he  led.  He  would  not  know  this,  you  would  not 
confess  it,  but  too  late  you  might  both  learn  that  you  wero 
too  young,  too  ardent,  too  frail  in  all  but  the  might  of  love, 
to  be  his  wife.  It  is  like  a  woodbird  mating  with  an  eagle, 
straining  its  little  wings  to  scale  the  sky  with  him,  blind 
ing  itself  with  gazing  at  the  sun,  striving  to  fill  and  warm 
the  wild  eyrie  which  becomes  its  home,  and  perishing  in 
the  stern  solitude  the  other  loves.  Yet,  too  fond  and  faith 
ful  to  regret  the  safer  nest  among  the  grass,  the  gentler 
mate  it  might  have  had,  the  summer  life  and  winter  flitting 
to  the  south  for  which  it  was  designed." 

"Faith,  you  frighten  me  ;  you  seem  to  see  and  show  me  all 
the  dim  forebodings  I  have  hidden  away  within  myself, 
because  I  could  not  understand  or  dared  not  face  them. 
How  have  you  learned  so  much  ?  How  can  you  read  me  so 
well  ?  and  who  told  you  these  things  of  us  all  ?  " 

"  I  had  an  unhappy  girlhood  in  a  discordant  home ;  early 
sares  and  losses  made  me  old  in  youth,  and  taught  me  to 
observe  how  others  bore  their  burdens.  Since  then  solitude 
has  led  me  to  study  and  reflect  upon  the  question  toward 
which  my  thoughts  inevitably  turned.  Concerning  yourself 
and  your  past  Geoffrey  told  me  much  but  Adam  more." 

"  Have  you  seen  him  ?  Has  he  been  here  ?  When, 
Faith,  when  ?  " 

Light  and  color  flashed  back  into  Sylvia's  face,  and  the 
glad  eagerness  of  her  voice  was  a.  pleasant  sound  to  hear ' 
after  the  despairing  accents  gone  before.    Faith  sighed,  but 
answered 'fully,  carefully,  while  the  compassion  of  her  look 
deepened  as  she  spoke. 

44 1  saw  him  but  a  week  ago,  vehement  and  vigorous  aa 


250  MOODS. 

ever.  He  has  come  hither  often  during  the  winter,  has 
watched  you  unseen,  and  brought  me  news  of  you  which 
made  Geoffrey's  disclosure  scarcely  a  surprise.  He  said 
you  bade  him  hear  of  you  through  me,  that  he  preferred  to 
come,  not  write,  for  letters  were  often  false  interpreters, 
but  face  to  face  one  gets  the  real  thought  of  one's  friend  by 
look,  as  well  as  word,  and  the  result  is  satisfactory." 

"  That  is  Adam !  But  what  more  did  he  say  ?  How  did 
you  advise  him  ?  I  know  he  asked  counsel  of  you,  as  we 
all  have  done." 

"  He  did,  and  I  gave  it  as  frankly  as  to  you  and  Geoff 
rey.  He  made  me  understand  you,  judge  you  leniently, 
see  in  you  the  virtues  you  have  cherished  despite  drawbacks 
such  as  few  have  to  struggle  with.  Your  father  made 
Adam  his  confessor  during  the  happy  month  when  you  first 
knew  him.  I  need  not  tell  you  how  he  received  and  pre 
served  such  a  trust.  He  betrayed  no  confidence,  but  in 
speaking  of  you  I  saw  that  his  knowledge  of  the  father 
taught  him  to  understand  the  daughter.  It  was  well  and 
f beautifully  done,  and  did  we  need  anything  to  endear  him 
to  us  this  trait  of  character  woulj  do  it,  for  it  is  a  rare  en- 
dowment,  the  power  of  overcoming  all  obstacles  of  pride, 
age,  and  the  sad  reserve  self-condemnation  brings  us,  and 
making  confession  a  grateful  healing." 

" I  know  it;  we  tell  our  sorrows  to  such  as  Geoffrey,  our 
sins  to  such  as  Adam.  But,  Faith,  when  you  spoke  of  me, 
did  you  say  to  him  what  you  have  been  saying  to  me  about 
my  unfitness  to  be  his  wife  because  of  inequality,  and  my 
unhappy  inheritance  ?  " 

"  Could  I  do  otherwise  when  he  fixed  that  commanding 
eye  of  his  upon  me  asking,  '  Is  my  love  as  wise  as  it  is 
warm  ?  '  He  is  one  of  those  who  force  the  hardest  truths 


WHAT   NEX1?  251 

from  us  by  the  simple  fact  that  they  can  bear  it,  and  would 
do  the  same  for  us.  He  needed  it  then,  for  though  instinct 
was  right,  —  hence  his  anxious  question,  —  his  heart,  never 
so  entirely  roused  as  now,  made  it  difficult  for  him  to  judge 
of  your  relations  to  one  another,  and  there  my  woman's  in 
sight  helped  him." 

"  "What  did  he  do  when  you  told  him?  I  see  that  you 
will  yet  hesitate  to  tell  me.  I  think  you  have  been  pre 
paring  me  to  hear  it.  Speak  out.  Though  my  cheeks 
whiten  and  my  hands  .tremble  I  can  bear  it,  for  you  shall 
be  the  law  by  which  I  will  abide." 

"  You  shall  be  a  law  to  yourself,  my  brave  Sylvia.  Put 
your  hands  in  mine  and  hold  fast  to  the  friend  who  loves 
and  honors  you  for  this.  I  will  tell  you  what  Adam  did 
and  said.  He  sat  in  deep  thought  many  minutes ;  but  with 
him  to  see  is  to  do,  and  soon  he  turned  to  me  with  the 
courageous  expression  which  in  him  signifies  that  the  fight 
is  fought,  the  victory  won.  '  It  is  necessary  to  be  just,  it 
is  not  necessary  to  be  happy.  I  shall  never  marry  Sylvia, 
even  if  I  may,'  —  and  with  that  paraphrase  of  words, 
whose  meaning  seemed  to  fit  his  need,  he  went  away.  I 
think  he  will  not  come  again  either  to  me  —  or  you." 

How  still  the  room  grew  as  Faith's  reluctant  lips  uttered 
the  last  words !  Sylvia  sat  motionless  looking  out  into  the 
sunny  valley,  with  eyes  that  saw  nothing  but  the  image  of 
that  beloved  friend  leaving  her  perhaps  forever.  Well  she 
knew  that  with  this  man  to  see  was  to  do,  and  with  a  wo- 
t'ul  sense  of  desolation  falling  cold  upon  her  heart,  she  felt 
that  there  was  nothing  more  to  hope  for  but  a  brave  sub 
mission  like  his  own.  Yet  in  that  pause  there  came  a  feeling 
of  relief  after  the  first  despair.  The  power  of  choice  was  no 
longer  left  her,  and  the  help  she  needed  was  bestowed  by 


252  MOODS. 

one  who  could  decide  against  himself,  inspired  by  a  senti 
ment  which  curbed  a  strong  man's  love  of  power,  and  made 
it  subject  to  a  just  man's  love  of  right.  Great  examples 
never  lose  their  virtue  ;  what  Pompey  was  to  Warwick  that 
Warwick  became  to  Sylvia,  and  in  the  moment  of  supremcst 
sorrow  she  felt  the  fire  of  a  noble  emulation  kindling  within 
her  from  the  spark  he  left  behind. 

"  Faith,  what  comes  next  ?  " 

"  This,"  and  she  was  gathered  close  while  Faith  confessed 
how  hard  her  task  had  been  by  letting  tears  fall  fast  upon 
the  head  which  seemed  to  have  found  its  proper  resting- 
place,  as  if  despite  her  courage  and  her  wisdom  the  woman's 
heart  was  half  broken  with  its  pity.  Better  than  any  words 
was  the  motherly  embrace,  the  silent  shower,  the  blessed 
balm  of  sympathy  which  soothed  the  wounds  it  could  not 
heal.  Leaning  against  each  other  the  two  hearts  talked 
together  in  the  silence,  feeling  the  beauty  of  the  tie  kind 
Nature  weaves  between  the  hearts  that  should  be  knit. 
Faith  often  turned  her  lips  to  Sylvia's  forehead,  brushed 
back  her  hair  with  a  lingering  touch,  and  drew  her  nearer 
as  if  it  was  very  pleasant  to  see  and  feel  the  little  creature 
in  her  arms.  Sylvia  lay  there,  tearless  and  tranquil; 
thinking  thoughts  for  which  she  had  no  words,  and  trying 
to  prepare  herself  for  the  life  to  come,  a  life  that  now  looked 
very  desolate.  Her  eye  still  rested  on  the  valley  where  the 
river  flowed,  the  elms  waved  their  budding  boughs  in  the 
bland  air,  and  the  meadows  wore  their  earliest  tinge  of 
green.  But  she  was  not  conscious  of  these  things  till 
the  sight  of  a  solitary  figure  coming  slowly  up  the  hill 
recalled  her  to  the  present  and  the  duties  it  still  held 
for  her, 

"  Here   is  Geoffrey !      How  wearily  he  walks,  —  how 


WHAT   NEXT?  253 

changed  and  old  he  looks,  —  oh,  why  was  I  born  to  be  a 
curse  to  all  who  love  me !  " 

"  Hush,  Sylvia,  say  anything  but  that,  because  it  casts 
reproach  upon  your  father.  Your  life  is  but  just  begun ; 
make  it  a  blessing,  not  a  curse,  as  all  of  us  have  power  to 
do ;  and  remember  that  for  every  affliction  there  are  two 
helpers,  who  can  heal  or  end  the  heaviest  we  know  —  Time 
and  Death.  The  first  we  may  invoke  and  wait  for;  the 
last  God  alone  can  send  when  it  is  better  not  to  live." 

"I  will  try  to  be  patient.  Will  you  meet  and  tell- 
Geoffrey  what  has  passed  ?  I  have  no  strength  left  but  for 
passive  endurance." 

Faith  went ;  Sylvia  heard  the  murmur  of  earnest  con 
versation  ;  then  steps  came  rapidly  along  the  hall,  and 
Moor  was  in  the  room.  She  rose  involuntarily,  but  for  a 
moment  neither  spoke,  for  never  had  they  met  as  now. 
Each  regarded  the  other  as  if  a  year  had  rolled  between 
them  since  they  parted,  and  each  saw  in  the  other  the 
changes  that  one  day  had  wrought.  Neither  the  fire  of  re 
sentment  nor  the  frost  of  pride  now  rendered  Moor's  face 
stormy  or  stern.  Anxious  and  worn  it  was,  with  newly 
graven  lines  upon  the  forehead  and  melancholy  curves  about 
tne  mouth,  but  the  peace  of  a  conquered  spirit  touched  it 
with  a  pale  serenity,  and  some  perennial  hope  shone  in  the 
glance  he  bent  upon  his  wife.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life 
Sylvia  was  truly  beautiful,  — not  physically,  for  never  had 
she  looked  more  weak  and  wan,  but'  spiritually,  as  the  in 
ward  change  made  itself  manifest  in  an  indescribable 
expression  of  meekness  and  of  strength.  With  suffering 
came  submission,  with  repentance  came  regeneration,  and 
the  power  of  the  woman  yet  to  be,  touched  with  beauty  the 
pathos  of  the  woman  now  passing  through  the  fire. 


254  MOODS. 

"  Faith  has  told  you  what  has  passed  between  us,  and 
you  know  that  my  loss  is  a  double  one,"  she  said.  "  Let 
me  add  that  I  deserve  it,  that  I  clearly  see  my  mistakes, 
will  amend  such  as  I  can,  bear  the  consequences  of  such  as 
are  past  help,  try  to  profit  by  all,  and  make  no  new  ones. 
I  cannot  be  your  wife,  I  ought  not  to  be  Adam's ;  but  A 
may  be  myself,  may  live  my  life  alone,  and  being  friendi 
with  both  wrong  neither.  This  is  my  decision  ;  in  it  I  be 
lieve,  by  it  I  will  abide,  and  if  it  be  a  just  one  God  will 
not  let  me  fail." 

"  I  submit,  Sylvia  ;  I  can  still  hope  and  wait." 

So  humbly  he  said  it,  so  heartily  he  meant  it,  she  felt 
that  his  love  was  as  indomitable  as  Warwick's  will,  and  the 
wish  that  it  were  right  and  possible  to  accept  and  reward  it 
woke  with  all  its  old  intensity.  It  was  not  possible  ;  and 
though  her  heart  grew  heavier  within  her,  Sylvia  answered 
steadily  — 

"  No,  Geoffrey,  do  not  hope,  do  not  wait ;  forgive  me  ana 
forget  me.  Go  abroad  as  you  proposed  ;  travel  far  and  stay 
long  away.  Change  your  life,  and  learn  to  see  in  me  only 
the  friend  I  once  was  and  still  desire  to  be." 

"  I  will  go,  will  stay  till  you  re«all  me,  but  while  you 
live  your  life  alone  I  shall  still  hope  and  wait." 

This  invincible  fidelity,  so  patient,  so  persistent,  impress 
ed  the  listener  like  a  prophecy,  disturbed  her  conviction, 
arrested  the  words  upon  her  lips  and  softened  them. 

"  It  is  not  for  one  so  unstable  as  myself  to  say, '  I  shall  never 
change.'  I  do  not  say  it,  though  I  heartily  believe  it,  but 
will  leave  all  to  time.  Surely  I  may  do  this ;  may  let 
separation  gently,  gradually  convince  you  or  alter  me ;  and 
as  the  one  return  which  I  can  make  for  all  you  have  given 
me,  let  this  tie  between  us  remain  unbroken  for  a  little 


WHAT   NEXT?  255 

longer.  Take  this  poor  consolation  with  you  ;  it  is  the  best 
that  I  can  offer  now.  Mine  is  the  knowledge  that  however 
I  may  thwart  your  life  in  this  world,  there  is  a  beautiful 
eternity  in  which  you  will  forget  inc  and  be  happy." 

She  gave  him  comfort,  but  he  robbed  her  of  her  own  as 
he  drew  her  to  him,  answering  with  a  glance  brighter  than 
any  smile  — 

"  Love  is  immortal,  dear,  and  even  in  the  '  beautiful 
eternity '  I  shall  still  hope  and  wait." 

How  soon  it  was  all  over !  the  return  to  separate  homes, 
the  disclosures,  and  the  storms;  the  preparations  for  the 
solitary  voyage,  the  last  charges  and  farewells. 

Mark  would  not,  and  Prue  could  not,  go  to  see  the  trav 
eller  off;  the  former  being  too  angry  to  lend  his  counte 
nance  to  what  he  termed  a  barbarous  banishment,  the  latter, 
being  half  blind  with  crying,  stayed  to  nurse  Jessie,  whose 
soft  heart  was  nearly  broken  at  what  seemed  to  her  the  most 
direful  affliction  under  heaven. 

But  Sylvia  and  her  father  followed  Moor  till  his  foot 
left  the  soil,  and  still  lingered  on  the  wharf  to  watch  the 
steamer  out  of  port.  Ar  uncongenial  place  in  which  to 
part ;  carriages  rolled  up  and  down,  a  clamor  of  voices  filled 
the  air,  the  little  steamtug  snorted  with  impatience,  and 
the  waves  flowed  seaward  with  the  ebbing  of  the  tide. 
But  father  and  daughter  saw  only  one  object,  heard  only 
one  sound,  Moor's  face  as  it  looked  down  upon  them  from 
the  deck,  Moor's  voice  as  he  sent  cheery  messages  to  those 
left  behind.  Mr.  Yule  was  endeavoring  to  reply  as  cheer 
ily,  and  Sylvia  was  gazing  with  eyes  that  saw  very  dimly 
through  their  tears,  when  both  were  aware  of  an  instanta 
neous  change  in  the  countenance  they  watched.  Something 


2-')  6  MOODS. 

beyond  themselves  seemed  to  arrest  Moor's  eye  ;  a  moment 
he  stood  intent  and  motionless,  then  flushed  to  the  fore 
head  with  the  dark  glow  Sylvia  remembered  well,  waved 
his  hand  to  them  and  vanished  down  the  cabin  stairs. 

"Papa,  what  did  he  see  ?" 

There  was  no  need  of  any  answer  ;  Adam  Warwick  came 
striding  through  the  crowd,  saw  them,  paused  with  both 
hands  out,  and  a  questioning  glance  as  if  uncertain  of  his 
greeting.  With  one  impulse  the  hands  were  taken ;  Sylvia 
could  not  speak,  her  father  could,  and  did  approvingly  — 

"  Welcome,  Warwick ;  you  are  come  to  say  good  by  to 
Geoffrey  ?  " 

"  Bather  to  you,  sir  ;  he  needs  none,  I  go  with  him." 

"  With  him  !  "  echoed  both  hearers. 

"  Ay,  that  I  will.  Did  you  think  I  would  let  him  go 
away  alone  feeling  bereaved  of  wife,  and  home,  and 
friend  ?  " 

"  We  should  have  known  you  better.  But,  Warwick, 
he  will:  shun  you ;  he  hid  himself  just  now  as  you  ap 
proached  ;  he  has  tried  to  forgive,  but  he  cannot  so  soon 
forget." 

"  All  the  more  need  of  my  helping  him  to  do  both.  He 
cannot  shun  me  long  with  no  hiding-place  to  fly  to  but  the 
sea,  and  I  will  so  gently  constrain  him  by  the  old-time  love 
we  bore  each  other,  that  he  must  relent  and  take  me  back 
into  his  heart  again." 

"  Oh,  Adam !  go  with  him,  stay  with  him,  and  bring 
him  safely  back  to  me  when  time  has  helped  us  all." 

"  I  shall  do  it,  God  willing." 

Unmindful  of  all  else  Warwick  bent  and  took  her  to  him 
as  he  gave  the  promise,  seemed  to  put  his  whole  heart  into 
a  single  kiss  and  left  her  trembling  with  the  stress  of  his 


WHAT   NEXT?  257 

farewell.  She  saw  him  cleave  his  way  through  the  throng, 
leap  the  space  left  by  the  gangway  just  withdrawn,  and 
vanish  in  search  of  that  lost  friend.  Then  she  turned  her 
face  to  her  father's  shoulder,  conscious  of  nothing  but  the 
fact  that  Warwick  had  come  and  gone. 

A  cannon  boomed,  the  crowd  cheered,  the  last  cable  was 
flung  off,  and  the  steamer  glided  from  her  moorings  with 
the  surge  of  water  and  the  waft  of  wind  like  some  sea- 
monster  eager  to  be  out  upon  the  ocean  free  again. 

"  Look  up,  Sylvia  ;  she  will  soon  pass  from  sight." 

"  Are  they  there  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Then  I  do  not  care  to  see.  Look  for  me,  father,  and 
tell  me  when  they  come." 

"  They  will  not  come,  dear ;  both  have  said  good  by, 
and  we  have  seen  the  last  of  them  for  many  a  long  day." 

"  They  will  come  !  Adam  will  bring  Geoffrey  to  show 
me  they  are  friends  again.  I  know  it ;  you  shall  see  it. 
Lift  me  to  that  block  and  watch  the  deck  with  me  that  we 
may  see  them  the  instant  they  appear." 

Up  she  sprung,  eyes  clear  now,  nerves  steady,  faith 
strong.  Leaning  forward  so  utterly  forgetful  of  herself, 
she  would  have  fallen  into  the  green  water  tumbling  there 
below,  had  not  her  father  held  her  fast.  How  slowly  the 
minutes  seemed  to  pass,  how  rapidly  the  steamer  seemed  to 
glide  away,  how  heavily  the  sense  of  loss  weighed  on  her 
heart  as  wave  after  wave  rolled  between  her  and  her  heart's 
desire. 

"  Come  down,  Sylvia,  it  is  giving  yourself  useless  pain 
to  watch  and  wait.  Come  home,  my  child,  and  let  us  com 
fort  one  another." 

She  did  not  hear  him,  for  as  he  spoke  the  steamer  swung 
22* 


MOODS. 

slowly  round  to  launch  itself  into  the  open  bay,  and  with  a 
cry  that  drew  many  eyes  upon  the  young  figure  with  its 
face  of  pale  expectancy,  Sylvia  saw  her  hope  fulfilled. 

"  I  knew  they  would  come  !  -  See,  father,  see  !  Geoffrey 
is  smiling  as  he  waves  his  handkerchief,  and  Adam's  hand 
is  on  his  shoulder.  Answer  them !  oh,  answer  them  !  I 
can  only  look." 

The  old  man  did  answer  them  enthusiastically,  and  Syl 
via  stretched  her  arms  across  the  widening  space  as  if  to 
bring  them  back  again.  Side  by  side  the  friends  stood 
now ;  Moor's  eye  upon  his  wife,  while  from  his  hand  the 
little  flag  of  peace  streamed  in  the  wind.  But  Warwick's 
glance  was  turned  upon  his  friend,  and  Warwick's  hand 
already  seemed  to  claim  the  charge  he  had  accepted. 

Standing  thus  they  passed  from  sight,  never  to  come 
sailing  home  together  as  the  woman  on  the  shore  was  pray 
ing  God  to  let  her  see  them  come. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

SIX  MONTHS. 

THE  ensuing  half  year  seemed  fuller  of  duties  and  events 
than  any  Sylvia  had  ever  known.  At  first  she  found  it 
very  hard  to  live  her  life  alone ;  for  inward  solitude  oppress 
ed  her,  and  external  trials  were  not  wanting.  Only  to  the 
few  who  had  a  right  to  know,  had  the  whole  trouble  been 
confided.  They  were  discreet  from  family  pride,  if  from  no 
tenderer  feeling ;  but  the  curious  world  outside  of  that  small 
circle  was  full  of  shrewd  surmises,  of  keen  eyes  for  discover 
ing  domestic  breaches,  and  shrill  tongues  for  proclaiming 
them.  Warwick  escaped  suspicion,  being  so  little  known, 
so  seldom  seen ;  but  for  the  usual  nine  days  matrons  and 
venerable  maids  wagged  •  their  caps,  lifted  their  hands,  and 
sighed  as  they  sipped  their  dish  of  scandal  and  of  tea  — 

"  Poor  young  man  !  I  always  said  how  it  would  be,  she 
was  so  peculiar.  My  dear  creature,  haven't  you  heard  that 
Mrs.  Moor  isn't  happy  with  her  husband,  and  that  he  has 
gone  abroad  quite  broken-hearted  ?  " 

Sylvia  felt  this  deeply,  but  received  it  p,s  her  just  punish 
ment,  and  bore  herself  so  meekly  that  public  opinion  soon 
turned  a  somersault,  and  the  murmur  changed  to  — 

"  Poor  young  thing !  what  could  she  expect?  My  dear, 
i  have  it  from-the  best  authority,  that  Mr.  Moor  has  made 
her  miserable  for  a  year,  and  now  left  her  broken-hearted." 


260  MOODS. 

After  that,  the  gossips  took  up  some  newer  tragedy,  and  left 
Mrs.  Moor  to  mend  her  heart  as  best  she  could,  a  favor  very 
gratefully  received. 

As  Hester  Prynne  seemed  to  see  some  trace  of  her  own 
sin  in  every  bosom,  by  the  glare  of  the  Scarlet  Letter 
burning  on  her  own ;  so  Sylvia,  living  in  the  shadow  of  a 
household  grief,  found  herself  detecting  various  phases  of 
her  own  experience  in  others.  She  had  joined  that  sad 
sisterhood  called  disappointed  women ;  a  larger  class  than 
many  deem  it  to  be,  though  there  are  few  of  us  who  have 
not  seen  members  of  it.  Unhappy  wives ;  mistaken  or  for 
saken  lovers ;  meek  souls,  who  make  life  a  long  penance  for 
the  sins  of  others ;  gifted  creatures  kindled  into  fitful  bril 
liancy  by  some  inward  fire  that  consumes  but  cannot  warm. 
These  are  the  women  wholly  to  convents,  write  bitter  books, 
sing  songs  full  of  heartbreak,  act  splendidly  the  passion  they 
have  lost  or  never  won.  Who  smile,  and  try  to  lead  brave 
uncomplaining  lives,  but  whose  tragic  eyes  betray  them, 
whose  voices,  however  sweet  or  gay,  contain  an  undertone 
of  hopelessness,  whose  faces  sometimes  startle  one  with 
an  expression  which  haunts  the  observer  long  after  it  is 
gone. 

Undoubtedly  Sylvia  would  have  joined  the  melancholy 
chorus,  and  fallen  to  lamenting  that  ever  she  was  born,  had 
she  not  possessed  a  purpose  that  took  her  out  of  herself  and 
proved  her  salvation.  Faith's  words  took  root  and  blos 
somed.  Intent  on  making  her  life  a  blessing,  not  a  re 
proach  to  her  father,  she  lived  for  him  entirely.  He  had 
taken  her  back  to  him,  as  if  the  burden  of  her  unhappy 
past  should  be  upon  his  shoulders,  the  expiation  of  her 
faults  come  from  him  alone.  Sylvia  understood  this  now, 
and  nestled  to  him  so  gladly,  so  confidingly,  he  seemed  to 


SIX   MONTHS.  261 

have  found  again  the  daughter  he  had  lost  and  be  almost 
content  to  have  her  all  his  own. 

How  many  roofs  cover  families  or  friends  who  live  years 
together,  yet  never  truly  know  each  other ;  who  love,  and 
long  and  try  to  meet,  yet  fail  to  do  so  till  some  unexpected 
emotion  or  event  performs  the  work.  In  the  weeks  that 
followed  the  departure  of  the  friends,  Sylvia  discovered  this 
and  learned  to  know  her  father.  No  one  was  so  much  to  her 
as  he ;  no  one  so  fully  entered  into  her  thoughts  and  feel 
ings  ;  for  sympathy  drew  them  tenderly  together,  and  sorrow 
made  them  equals.  As  man  and  woman  they  talked,  as 
father  and  daughter  they  loved ;  and  the  beautiful  relation 
became  their  truest  solace  and  support. 

Miss  Yule  both  rejoiced  at  and  rebelled  against  this ; 
was  generous,  yet  mortally  jealous ;  made  no  complaint,  but 
grieved  in  private,  and  one  fine  day  amazed  her  sister  by 
announcing,  that,  being  of  no  farther  use  at  home,  she  had 
decided  to  be  married.  Both  Mr.  Yule  and  Sylvia  had 
desired  this  event,  but  hardly  dared  to  expect  it  in  spite 
of  sundry  propitious  signs  and  circumstances. 

A  certain  worthy  widower  had  haunted  the  house  of  late, 
evidently  on  matrimonial  thoughts  intent.  A  solid  gentle 
man,  both  physically  and  financially  speaking  ;  possessed  of 
an  ill-kept  house,  bad  servants,  and  nine  neglected  children. 
This  prospect,  however  alarming  to  others,  had  great 
charms  for  Prue  ;  nor  was  the  Reverend  Gamaliel  Bliss  re 
pugnant  to  her,  being  a  rubicund,  bland  personage,  much 
given  to  fine  linen,  long  dinners,  and  short  sermons.  His 
third  spouse  had  been  suddenly  translated,  and  though  the 
years  of  mourning  had  not  yet  expired, .things  went  so  hardly 
with  Gamaliel,  that  he  could  no  longer  delay  casting  his 
pastoral  eyes  over  the  flock  which  had  already  given  three 


2(52  MOODS. 

lambs  to  his  fold,  in  search  'of  a  fourth.  None  appeared 
whose  meek  graces  were  sufficiently  attractive,  or  whose 
dowries  were  sufficiently  large.  Meantime  the  nine  olive- 
branches  grew  wild,  the  servants  revelled,  the  ministerial 
digestion  suffered,  the  sacred  shirts  went  buttonless,  and 
their  wearer  was  wellnigh  distraught.  At  this  crisis  he 
saw  Prudence,  and  fell  into  a  way  of  seating  himself  before 
the  well-endowed  spinster,  with  a  large  cambric  pocket- 
handkerchief  upon  his  knee,  a  frequent  tear  meandering 
down  his  florid  countenance,  and  volcanic  sighs  agitating 
his  capacious  waistcoat  as  he  poured  his  woes  into  her  ear. 
Prue  had  been  deeply  touched  by  these  moist  appeals,  and 
was  not  much  surprised  when  the  reverend  gentleman  went 
ponderously  down  upon  his  knee  before  her  in  the  good 
old-fashioned  style  which  frequent  use  had  endeared  to  him, 
murmuring  with  an  appropriate  quotation  and  a  subterra 
nean  sob  — 

"  Miss  Yule,  '  a  good  wife  is  a  crown  to  her  husband ; ' 
be  such  an  one  to  me,  unworthy  as  I  am,  and  a  mother  to 
my  bereaved  babes,  who  suffer  for  a  tender  woman's  care." 

She  merely  upset  her  sewing-table  with  an  appropriate 
start,  but  speedily  recovered,  and  with  a  maidenly  blush 
murmured  in  return  — 

"  Dear  me,  how  very  unexpected !  pray  speak  to  papa,  — 
oh,  rise,  I  beg." 

"  Call  me  Gamaliel,  and  I  obey !  "  gasped  the  stout  lover, 
divided  between  rapture  and  doubts  of  his  ability  to  per 
form  the  feat  alone. 

"  Gam-aliel,"  sighed  Prue,  surrendering  her  hand. 

"  My  Prudence,  blessed  among  women!"  responded  the 
blissful  Bliss.  And  having  saluted  the  fair  member,  allowed 
it  to  help  him  rise  ;  when,  after  a  few  decorous  endearments, 


SIX   MONTHS.  263 

he  departed  to  papa,  and  the  bride  elect  rushed  up  to 
Sylvia  with  the  incoherent  announcement  — 

"  My  dearest  child,  I  have  accepted  him !  It  w%|  such 
a  surprise,  though  so  touchingly  done.  I  was  positively 
mortified ;  Maria  had  swept  the  room  so  ill,  his  knees  were 
white  with  lint,  and  I'm  a  very  happy  woman,  bless  you, 
love !  " 

"  Sit  do-.vn,  and  tell  me  all  about  it,"  cried  her  sister. 
V  Don't  try  to  sew,  but  cry  if  you  like,  and  let  me  pet  you, 
for  indeed  -I  am  rejoiced." 

But  Prue  preferred  to  rock  violently,  and  boggle  down  a 
seam  as  the  best  quietus  for  her  fluttered  nerves,  while  she 
told  her  romance,  received  congratulations,  and  settled  a 
few  objections  made  by  Sylvia,  who  tried  to  play  the  pru 
dent  matron. 

"  I  am  afraid  he  is  too  old  for  you,  my  dear." 

"  Just  the  age  ;  a  man  should  always  be  ten  years  older 
than  his  wife.  A  woman  of  thirty-five  is  in  the  prime  of 
life,  and  if  she  hasn't  arrived  at  years  of  discretion  then, 
she  never  will.  Shall  I  wear  pearl-colored  silk  and  a  white 
bonnet,  or  just  a  very  handsome  travelling  dress?" 

"  Whichever  you  like.  But,  Prue,  isn't  he  rather  stout, 
I  won't  say  corpulent  ?  " 

"  Sylvia,  how  can  you !  Because  papa  is  a  shadow,  you 
call  a  fine,  manly  person  like  Gam  —  Mr.  Bliss,  corpulent. 
I  always  said  I  would  not  marry  an  invalid,  (Macgre- 
gor  died  of  apoplexy  last  week,  I  heard,  at  a  small  din 
ner  party ;  fell  forward  with  his  head  'upon  the  cheese,  and 
expired  without  a  groan,)  and  where  can  you  find  a  more 
robust  and  healthy  man  than  Mr.  Bliss?  Not  a  gray  hair, 
and  gout  his  only  complaint.  So  aristocratic..  You  know 
I've  loads  of  fine  old  flannel,  just  the  thing  for  him." 


264  MOODS. 

Sylvia  commanded  her  countenance  with  difficulty,  and 
went  on  with  her  maternal  inquiries. 

"  Ij£  is  a  personable  man,  and  an  excellent  one,  I  believe, 
yet  I  should  rather  dread  the  responsibility  of  nine  small 
children,  if  I  were  you." 

"  They  are  my  chief  inducement  to  the  match.  Just, 
think  of  the  state  those  dears  must  be  in,  with  only  a  young 
governess,  and  half  a  clozen  giddy  maids  to  see  to  them.  I 
long  to  be  among  them,  and  named  an  early  day,  because 
measles  and  scarlatina  are  coming  round  again,  and  only 
Fanny,  and  the  twins,  G-us  and  Gam,  have  had  either.  I 
know  all  their  names  and  ages,  dispositions,  and  charac 
ters,  and  love  them  like  a  mother  already.  He  perfectly 
adores  them,  and  that  is  very  charming  in  a  learned  man 
like  Mr.  Bliss." 

(flf  that  is  your  feeling  it  will  all  go  well  I  have 
no  doubt.  But,  Prue,  —  I  don't  wish  to  be  unkind,  dear, 
— .do  you  quite  like  the  idea  of  being  the  fourth  Mrs. 
Bliss?" 

"  Bless  me,  I  never  thought  of  that!  Poor  man,  it  only 
shows  how  much  he  must  need  consolation,  and  proves  how 
good  a  husband  he  must  have  been.  No,  Sylvia,  I  don't 
care  a  particle.  I  never  knew  those  estimable  ladies,  and 
the  memory  of  them  shall  not  keep  me  from  making  Gama 
liel  happy  if  I  can.  What  he  goes  through  now  is  almost 
beyond  belief.  My  child,  just  think!  —  the  coachman 
drinks ;  the  cook  has  tea-parties  whenever  she  likes,  and 
supports  her  brother's  family  out  of  her  perquisites,  as  she 
calls  her  bare-faced  thefts  ;  the  house  maids  romp  with  tap 
indoor  man,  and  have  endless  followers;  three  old  maids 
set  their  caps  at  him,  and  that  hussy,  (I  must  use  a  strong 
expression,)  that  hussy  of  a  governess  makes  love  to  him 


SIX  MONTHS.  265 

before  the  children.  It^s  my  duty  to  marry  him ;  1  shall 
do  it,  and  put  an  end  to  this  fearful  state  of  things." 

Sylvia  asked  but  one  more  question  — 

"  Now,  seriously,  do  you  love  him  very  much  ?  Will  he 
make  you  as  happy  as  my  dear  old  girl  should  be  ?  " 

Prue  dropped  her  work,  and  hiding  her  face  on  Sylvia's 
shoulder,  answered  with  a  plaintive  sniff  or  two,  and  much 
real  feeling  — 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  I  do.  I  tried  to  love  him,  and  I  did  not 
fail.  I  shall  be  happy,  for  I  shall  be  busy.  I  am  not 
needed  here  any  more,  and  so  I  am  glad  to  go  away  into  a 
home  of  my  own,  feeling  sure  that  you  can  fill  my  place  ;  and 
Maria  knows  my  ways  too  well  to  let  things  go  amiss.  Now, 
kiss  me,  and  smooth  my  collar,  for  papa  may  call  me  down." 

The  sisters  embraced  and  cried  a  little,  as  women  usual 
ly  find  it  necessary  to  do  at  such  interesting  times ;  then 
fell  to  planning  the  wedding  outfit,  and  deciding  between 
the  "  light  silk  and  white  bonnet,"  or  the  "  handsome  trav 
elling  suit." 

Miss  Yule  made  a  great  sacrifice  -to  the  proprieties  by 
relinquishing  her  desire  for  a  stately  wedding,  and  much 
to  Sylvia's  surprise  and  relief,  insisted  that,  as  the  family 
was  then  situated,  it  was  "best  to  have  no  stir  or  parade, 
but  to  be  married  quietly  at  church  and  slip  unostenta 
tiously  out  of  the  old  life  into  the  new.  Her  will  was  law, 
and  as  the  elderly  bridegroom  felt  that  there  was  no  time 
to  spare,  and  the  measles  continued  to  go  about  seeking 
whom  they  might  devour,  Prue  did  not  keep  him  waiting 
long.  "  Three  weeks  is  very  little  time,  and  nothing  will 
be  properly  done,  for  one  must  have  everything  new  when 
one  is  married  of  course,  and  mantua-makers  are  but  mor 
tal  women  (exorbitant  in  their  charges  this  season,  I  assure 

01 


266  MOODS. 

you) ,  so  be  patient,  Gamaliel,  and  spend  the  time  in  teach- 
ing  my  little  ones  to  love  me  before  I  come." 

"  My  dearest  creature,  I  will."  And  well  did  the  en 
amored  gentleman  perform  his  promise. 

Prue  kept  hers  so  punctually  that  she  was  married  with 
the  bastings  in  her  wedding  gown  and  two  dozen  pocket- 
handkerchiefs  still  unhemmed ;  facts  which  disturbed  her 
even  during  the  ceremony.  A  quiet  time  throughout ;  and 
after  a  sober  feast,  a  tearful  farewell,  Mrs.  Gamaliel  Bliss 
departed,  leaving  a  great  void  behind  and  carrying  joy  to 
the  heart  of  her  spouse,  comfort  to  the  souls  of  the  excited 
nine,  destruction  to  the  "  High  Life  Below  Stairs,"  and 
order,  peace,  and  plenty  to  the  realm  over  which  she  was 
to  know  a  long  and  prosperous  reign. 

Hardly  had  the  excitement  of  this  event  subsided  when 
another  occurred  to  keep  Sylvia  from  melancholy  and  bring 
an  added  satisfaction  to  her  lonely  days.  Across  the  sea 
there  came  to  her  a  little  book,  bearing  her  name  upon  its 
title-page.  Quaintly  printed,  and  bound  in  some  foreign 
style,  plain  and  unassuming  without,  but  very  rich  within, 
for  there  she  found  Warwick's  Essays,  and  between  each 
of  these  one  of  tl\g  poems  from  Moor's  Diary.  Far  away 
there  in  Switzerland  they  had  devised  this  pleasure  for  her, 
and  done  honor  to  the  woman  whom  they  both  loved,  by 
dedicating  to  her  the  first  fruits  of  their  lives.  "  Alpen 
Bosen "  was  its  title,  and  none  could  have  better  suited  it 
in  Sylvia's  eyes,  for  to  her  Warwick  was  the  Alps  and 
Moor  the  roses.  Each  had  helped  the  other ;  Warwick's 
rugged  prose  gathered  grace  from  Moor's  poetry,  and 
Moor's  smoothly  flowing  lines  acquired  pewer  from  War 
wick's  prose.  Each  had  given  her  his  best,  and  very 
proud  was  Sylvia  of  the  little  book,  over  which  she  pored 


SIX  MONTHS.  267 

day  after  day,  living  on  and  in  it,  eagerly  collecting  all 
praises,  resenting  all  censures,  and  thinking  it  the  one  per 
fect  volume  in  the  world. 

Others  felt  and  acknowledged  its  worth  as  well,  for 
though  fashionable  libraries  were  not  besieged  by  inquiries 
for  it,  and  no  short-lived  enthusiasm  welcomed  it,  a  place 
was  found  for  it  on  many  study  tables,  where  real  work  was 
done.  Innocent  girls  sang  the  songs  and  loved  the  poet, 
while  thoughtful  women,  looking  deeper,  honored  the  man. 
Young  men  received  the  Essays  as  brave  protests  against 
the  evils  of  the  times,  and  old  men  felt  their  faith  in  honor 
and  honesty  revive.  The  wise  saw  great  promise  in  it,  and 
the  most  critical  could  not  deny  its  beauty  and  its  power. 

Early  in  autumn  arrived  a  fresh  delight ;  and  Jessie's 
little  daughter  became  peacemaker  as  well  as  idol.  Mark 
forgave  his  enemies,  and  swore  eternal  friendship  with  all 
mankind  the  first  day  of  his  baby's  life ;  and  when  his  sis 
ter  brought  it  to  him  he  took  both  in  his  arms,  making 
atonement  for  many  hasty  words  and  hard  thoughts  by  the 
broken  whisper  — 

"  I  have  two  little  Sylvias  now." 

This  wonderful  being  absorbed  both  households,  from 
grandpapa  to  the  deposed  sovereign  Tilly,  whom  Sylvia 
called  her  own,  and  kept  much  with  her ;  while  Prue  threat 
ened  to  cause  a  rise  in  the  price  of  stationery  by  the  daily 
and  copious  letters  full  of  warning  and  advice  which  she 
sent,  feeling  herself  a  mother  in  Israel  among  her  tribe  of 
nine,  now  safely  carried  through  the  Bed  Sea  of  scarlatina. 
Happy  faces  made  perpetual  sunshine  round  the  little  Syl 
via,  but  to  none -was  she  so  dear  a  boon  as  to  her  young 
god-mother.  Jessie  became  a  trifle  jealous  of  "  old  Sylvia," 
»s  she  now  called  herself,  for  she  almost  lived  in  baby's 


268  MOODS. 

nursery;  hurrying  over  in  time  to  assist  at  its  morning 
ablutions,  hovering  about  its  crib  when  it  slept,  daily  dis 
covering  beauties  invisible  even  to  its  mother's  eyes,  and 
working  early  and  late  on  dainty  garments,  rich  in  the  em 
broidery  which  she  now  thanked  Prue  for  teaching  her 
against  her  will.  The  touch  of  the  baby  hands  seemed  to 
heal  her  sore  heart ;  the  sound  of  the  baby  voice,  even 
when  most  unmusical,  had  a  soothing  effect  upon  her  nerves ; 
the  tender  cares  its  helplessness  demanded  absorbed  her 
thoughts,  and  kept  her  happy  in  a  new  world  whose  delights 
she  had  never  known  till  now. 

From  this  time  a  restful  expression  replaced  the  patient 
hopelessness  her  face  had  worn  before,  and  in  the  lullabys 
she  sang  the  listeners  caught  echoes  of  the  cheerful  voice 
they  had  never  thought  to  hear  again.  Gay  she  was  not. 
but  serene.  Quiet  was  all  she  asked ;  and  shunning  society 
seemed  happiest  to  sit  at  home  with  baby  and  its  gentle 
mother,  with  Mark,  now  painting  as  if  inspired,  or  with  her 
father,  who  relinquished  business  and  devoted  himself  to 
her.  A  pleasant  pause  seemed  to  have  come  after  troublous 
days  ;  a  tranquil  hush  in  which  she  sat  waiting  for  what 
time  should  bring  her.  But  as  she  waited  the  woman 
seemed  to  bloom  more  beautifully  than  the  girl  had  done. 
Light  and  color  revisited  her  countenance  clearer  and  deeper 
than  of  old ;  fine  lines  ennobled  features  faulty  in  them 
selves  ;  and  the  indescribable  refinement  of  a  deep  inward 
life  made  itself  manifest  in  look,  speech,  and  gesture,  giving 
promise  of  a  gracious  womanhood. 

Mr.  Yule  augured  well  from  this  repose,  and  believed  the 
dawning  loveliness  to  be  a  herald  of  returning  love.  He 
was  thinking  hopeful  thoughts  one  day  as  he  sat  writing  to 
Moor,  whose  faithful  correspondent  he  had  become,  when 


SIX   MONTHS.  269 

Sylvia  came  in  with  one  of  the  few  notes  she  sent  her  hus 
band  while  away. 

"  Just  in  time.  God  bless  me,  child !  what  is  it?" 
Well  might  he  exclaim,  for  in  his  daughter's  face  he  saw 
an  expression  which  caused  his  hope  to  suddenly  become  a 
glad  belief.  Her  lips  smiled,  though  in  her  eyes  there  lay 
a  shadow  which  he  could  not  comprehend,  and  her  answer 
did  not  enlighten  him  as  she  put  her  arm  about  his  neck 
and  laid  her  slip  of  paper  in  his  hand. 

"Enclose  my  note,  and  send  the  letter;  then,  father,  we 
will  talk." 


CHAPTER  XX. 

COME 

IN  a  small  Italian  town  not  far  from  EC  me,  a  traveller 
stood  listening  to  an  account  of  a  battle  lately  fought  near 
by,  in  which  the  town  had  suffered  much,  yet  been  forever 
honored  in  the  eyes  of  its  inhabitants,  by  having  been  the 
headquarters  of  the  Hero  of  Italy.  An  inquiry  of  the  trav 
eller's  concerning  a  countryman  of  whom  he  was  in  search, 
created  a  sensation  at  the  little  inn,  and  elicited  the  story 
of  the  battle,  ^one  incident  of  which  was  still  the  all-ab 
sorbing  topic  with  the  excited  villagers.  This  was  the  in 
cident  which  one  of  the  group  related  with  the  dramatic 
effects  of  a  language  composed  almost  as  much  of  gesture 
as  of  words,  and  an  audience  as  picturesque  as  could  well 
be  conceived. 

While  the  fight  was  raging  on  the  distant  plain,  a  troop 
of  marauding  Croats  dashed  into  the  town,  whose  defenders, 
although  outnumbered,  contested  every  inch  of  ground,  while 
slowly  driven  back  toward  the  convent,  the  despoiling  of 
which  was  the  object  of  the  attack.  This  convent  was  both 
hospital  and  refuge,  for  there  were  gathered  women  and 
children,  the  sick,  the  wounded,  and  the  old.  To  secure 
the  safety  of  these  rather  than  of  the  sacred  relics,  the 
Italians  were  bent  on  holding  the  town  till  the  reinforce 
ment  for  which  they  had  sent  could  come  up.  It  was  a 


COME.  271 

question  of  time,  and  every  moment  brought  nearer  the  de 
struction  of  the  helpless  garrison,  trembling  behind  the 
convent  walls.  A  brutal  massacre  was  in  store  for  them  if. 
no  help  came ;  and  remembering  this  the  red-shirted  Gari- 
baldians  fought  as  if  they  well  deserved  their  sobriquet  of 
"  Scarlet  Demons." 

Help  did  come,  not  from  below,  but  from  above.  Sud 
denly  a  cannon  thundered  royally,  and  down  the  narrow 
street  rushed  a  deathful  defiance,  carrying  disorder  and 
dismay  to  the  assailants,  joy  and  wonder  to  the  nearly  ex 
hausted  defenders.  Wonder,  for  well  they  knew  the  guo 
had  stood  silent  and  unmanned  since  the  retreat  of  the 
enemy  two  days  before,  and  this  unexpected  answer  to  their 
prayers  seemed  Heaven-sent.  Those  below  looked  up  as 
they  fought,  those  above  looked  down  as  they  Teared,  and 
midway  between  all  saw  that  a  single  man  held  the  gun. 
A  stalwart  figure,  bareheaded,  stern  faced,  sinewy  armed, 
fitfully  seen  through  clouds  of  smoke  and  flashes  of  fire, 
working  with  a  silent  energy  that  seemed  almost  superhu 
man  to  the  eyes  of  the  superstitious  souls,  who  believed  they 
saw  and  heard  the  convent's  patron  saint  proclaiming  their 
salvation  with  a  mighty  voice. 

This  belief  inspired  the  Italians,  caused  a  panic  among 
the  Croats,  and  saved  the  town.  A  few  rounds  turned  the 
ecale,  the  pursued  became  the  pursuers,  and  when  the  rein 
forcement  arrived  there  was  little  for  it  to  do  but  join  in 
the  rejoicing  and  salute  the  brave  cannoneer,  who  proved  to 
be  no  saint,  but  a  stranger  come  to  watch  the  battle,  and 
thus  opportunely  lend  his  aid. 

Enthusiastic  were  the  demonstrations;  vivas,  blessings, 
tears,  handkissing,  and  invocation  of  all  the  saints  in  the 
calendar,  till  it  was  discovered  that  the  unknown  gentleman 


272  MOODS. 

had  a  bullet  in  his  breast  and  was  in  need  of  instant  help. 
Whereupon  the  women,  clustering  about  him  like  bees,  bore 
him  away  to  the  wounded  ward,  where  the  inmates  rose  up 
in  their  beds  to  welcome  him,  and  the  clamorous  crowd 
were  with  difficulty  persuaded  to  relinquish  him  to  the 
priest,  the  surgeon,  and  the  rest  he  needed.  Nor  was  this 
all ;  the  crowning  glory  of  the  event  to  the  villagers  was  the 
coming  of  the  Chief  at  nightfall,  and  the  scene  about  the 
stranger's  bed.-  Here  the  narrator  glowed  with  pride,  the 
women  in  the  group  began  to  sob,  and  the  men  took  off 
their  caps,  with  fylack  eyes  glittering  through  their  tears. 

"  Excellenza,  he  who  had  fought  for  us  like  a  tempest, 
an  angel  of  doom,  lay  there  beside  my  cousin  Beppo,  who 
was  past  help  and  is  now  in  holy  Paradise  —  Speranza  was 
washing  the  smoke  and  powder  from  him,  the  wound  was 
easy  —  death  of  my  soul !  may  he  who  gave  it  die  uncon- 
fessed !  See  you,  I  am  there,  I  watch  him,  the  friend  of 
Excellenza,  the  great  still  man  who  smiled  but  said  no  word 
to  us.  Then  comes  the  Chief,  —  silenzio,  till  I  finish  !  —  he 
comes,  they  have  told  him,  he  stays  at  the  bed,  he  looks 
down,  the  fine  eye  shines,  he  takes  the  hand,  he  says  low  — 
'  I  thank  you/  —  he  lays  his  cloak,  —  the  gray  cloak 
we  know  and  love  so  well  —  over  the  wounded  breast, 
and  so  goes  on.  We  cry  out,  but  what  does  the  friend  ? 
Behold !  he  lifts  himself,  he  lays  the  cloak  upon  my  Beppo, 
he  says  in  that  so  broken  way  of  his  — '  Comrade,  the 
honor  is  for  you  who  gave  your  life  for  him,  I  give  but  a 
single  hour.'  Beppo  saw,  heard,  comprehended ;  thanked 
him  with  a  glance,  and  rose  up  to  die  crying,  '  Viva  Italia ! 
Viva  Garibaldi!' 

The  cry  was  caught  up  by  all  the  listeners  in  a  whirlwind 
of  enthusiastic  loyalty,  and  the  stranger  joined  in  it,  thrilled 


COME.  273 

with  an  equal  love  and  honor  for  the  Patriot  Soldier,  whose 
name  upon  Italian  lips  means  liberty. 

"  Where  is  he  now,  this  friend  of  mine,  so  nearly  lost, 
so  happily  found  ?  " 

A  dozen  hands  pointed  to  the  convent,  a  dozen  brown 
faces  lighted  up,  and  a  dozen  e*ager  voices  poured  out  direc 
tions,  messages,  and  benedictions  in  a  breath.  Ordering  his 
carriage  to  follow  presently,  the  traveller  rapidly  climbed 
the  steep  road,  guided  by  signs  he  could  not  well  mistake. 
The  convent  gate  stood  open,  and  he  paused  for  no  per 
mission  to  enter,  for  looking  through  it,  down  the  green 
vista  of  an  orchard  path,  he  saw  his  friend  and  sprang  to 
meet  him. 

"Adam!" 

"Geoffrey!" 

"  Truant  that  you  are,  to  desert  me  for  ten  days,  and 
only  let  me  find  you  when  you  have  no  need  of  me." 

"  I  always  need  you,  but  am  not  always  needed.  I  went 
away  because  the  old  restlessness  came  upon  me  in  that 
dead  city  Kome.  You  were  happy  there,  but  I  scented 
war,  followed  and  found  it  by  instinct,  and  have  had  enough 
of  it.  Look  at  my  hands." 

He  laughed  as  he  showed  them,  still  bruised  and  black 
ened  with  the  hard  usage  they  had  received ;  nothing  else 
but  a  paler  shade  of  color  from  loss  of  blood,  showed  that 
he  had  passed  through  any  suffering  or  danger. 

"Brave  hands,  I  honor  them  for  all  their  grime.  Tell 
me  about  it,  Adam ;  show  me  the  wound ;  describe  the  scene, 
I  want  to  hear  it  in  calm  English." 

But  Warwick  was  slow  to  do  so  being  the  hero  of  the 
tale,  and  very  brief  was  the  reply  Moor  got. 

*'  I  came  to  watch,  but  found  work  ready  for  me.     Tfc  is 


274  MOODS. 

not  clear  to  me  even  now  what  I  did,  nor  how  I  did  it.  One 
of  my  Berserker  rages  possessed  me  I  fancy;  my  nerves 
and  muscles  seemed  made  of  steel  •  and  gutta  percha ;  the 
smell  of  powder  intoxicated,  and  the  sense  of  power  wag 
grand.  The  fire,  the  smoke,  the  din  were  all  delicious,  and 
I  felt  like  a  giant,  as  I  wielded  that  great  weapon,  dealing  j 
many  deaths  with  a  single  pair  of  hands." 

"  The  savage  in  you  got  the  mastery  just  then  ;  I've  seen 
it,  and  have  often  wondered  how  you  managed  to  control  it 
so  well.  Now  it  has  had  a  holiday  and  made  a  hero  of  you." 

"  The  savage  is  better  out  than  in,  and  any  man  may  be 
a  hero  if  he  will.  What  have  you  been  doing  since  I  left 
you  poring  over  pictures  in  a  mouldy  palace?  " 

"  You  think  to  slip  away  from  the  subject,  do  you?  and 
after  facing  death  at  a  cannon's  breach  expect  me  to  be 
satisfied  with  an  ordinary  greeting  ?  I  won't  have  it ;  I 
insist  upon  asking  as  many  questions  as  I  like,  hearing  about 
the  wound  and  seeing  if  it  is  doing  well.  Where  is  it?  " 

Warwick  showed  it,  a  little  purple  spot  above  his  heart. 
Moor's  face  grew  anxious  as  he  looked,  but  cleared  again 
as  he  examined  it,  for  the  ball  had  gone  upward  and  the 
wholesome  flesh  was  already  healing  fast. 

"  Too  near,  Adam,  but  thank  G-od  it  was  no  nearer.  A 
little  lower  and  I  might  have  looked  for  you  in  vain." 

"  This  heart  of  mine  is  a  tough  organ,  bullet-proof,  I  dare 
say,  though  I  wear  no  breastplate." 

"  But  this!"  Involuntarily  Moor's  eye  asked  the  ques 
tion  his  lips  did  not  utter  as  he  touched  a  worn  and  faded 
case  hanging  on  the  broad  breast  before  him.  Silently 
Warwick  opened  it,  showing  not  Sylvia's  face  but  that  of  an 
old  woman,  rudely  drawn  in  sepia ;  the  brown  tints  bring 
ing  out  the  marked  features  as  no  softer  hue  oould  have 


COME.  275 

done,  and  giving  to  each  line  a  depth  of  expression  that 
made  the  serious  countenance  singularly  lifelike  and  attrac-% 
tive. 

Now  Moor  saw  where  Warwick  got  both  keen  eyes  and 
tender  mouth,  as  well  as  all  the  gentler  traits  that  softened 
his  strong  character  ;  and  felt  that  no  other  woman  ever 
had  or  ever  would  hold  so  dear  a  place  as  the  old  mother 
whose  likeness  he  had  drawn  and  hung  where  other  m^p 
wear  images  of  mistress  or  of  wife.  With  a  glance  as  full 
of  penitence  as  the  other  had  been  of  disquiet,  Moor  laid 
back  the  little  case,  drew  bandage  and  blouse  over  both 
wound  and  picture,  and  linked  his  arm  in  Warwick's  as  he 
asked  — 

"  Who  shot  you  ?" 

*'  How  can  I  tell  ?  I  knew  nothing  of  it  till  that  flock 
of  women  tell  to  kissing  these  dirty  hands  of  mine  ;  then  I 
was  conscious  of  a  stinging  pain  in  my  shoulder,  and  a 
warm  stream  trickling  down  my  side.  I  looked  to  see 
what  was  amiss,  whereat  the  good  souls  set  up  a  shriek, 
took  possession  •  of  me,  and  for  half  an  hour  wept  and 
wailed  over  me  in  a  frenzy  of  emotion  and  good-will  that 
kept  me  merry  in  spite  of  the  surgeon's  probes  and  the 
priest's  prayers.  The  appellations  showered  upon  me  would 
have  startled  even  your  ears,  accustomed  to  soft  words. 
Were  you  ever  called  '  core  of  my  heart,'  '  sun  of  my  soul,' 
or  '  cup  of  gold '  ?." 

"  Cannonading  suits  your  spirits  excellently ;  I  remem 
ber  your  telling  me  that  you  had  tried  and  liked  it.  But 
there  is  to  be  no  more  of  it,  I  have  other  plans  for  you. 
Before  I  mention  them  tell  me  of  the  interview  with  Gari 
baldi." 

"  That  now  is  a  thing  to  ask  one  about;  a  thing  to  talk 


270  MOODS. 

of  and  take  pride  in  all  one's  days.  I  was  half  asleep  and 
thought  myself  dreaming  till  he  spoke.  A  right  noble  face, 
Geoffrey  —  full  of  thought  and  power ;  the  look  of  one 
born  to  command  others  because  master  of  himself.  A 
square  strong  frame ;  no  decorations,  no  parade ;  dressed 
like  his  men,  yet  as  much  the  chief  as  if  he  wore  a  dozen 
orders  on  his  scarlet  shirt." 

"  Where  is  the  cloak?  I  want  to  see  and  touch  it;  surely 
you  kept  it  as  a  relic  ?  " 

"  Not  I.  Having  seen  the  man,  what  do  I  care  rbr  the 
garment  that  covered  him.  I  keep  the  hand  shake,  the 
'  Grazia,  grazia,'  for  my  share.  Poor  Beppo  lies  buried  in 
the  hero's  cloak." 

"  I  grudge  it  to  him,  every  inch  of  it,  for  not  having 
seen  the  man  /  do  desire  the  garment.  Who  but  you  would 
have  done  it?  " 

Warwick  smiled,  knowing  that  his  friend  was  well  pleased 
with  him  for  all  his  murmuring.  They  walked  in  silence 
till  Moor  abruptly  asked  — 

"  When  can  you  travel,  Adam  ?  " 

"  I  was  coming  back  to  you  to-morrow." 

"  Are  you  sure  it  is  safe  ?  " 

"Quite  sure ;  ten  days  is  enough  to  waste  upon  a  scratch 
like  this." 

"  Come  now,  I  cannot  wait  till  to-morrow." 

"  Very  good.     Can  you  stop  till  I  get  my  hat  ?  " 

"  You  don't  ask  me  why  I  am  in  such  haste." 

Moor's  tone  caused  Warwick  to  pause  and  look  at  him. 
Joy,  impatience,  anxiety,  contended  -with  each  other  in  his 
countenance ;  and  as  if  unable  to  tell  the  cause  himself,  he 
put  a  little  paper  into  the  other's  hand.  Only  three  words 
were  contained  in  it,  but  they  caused  Warwick's  face  to 


COME.  277 

kindle  with  all  the  joy  betrayed  in  that  of  his  friend,  none 
of  the  impatience  nor  anxiety. 

"  What  can  I  say  to  show  you  my  content?  The  months 
have  seemed  very  long  to  you,  but  now  comes  the  reward. 
The  blessed  little  letter !  so  like  herself ;  the  slender  slip, 
the  delicate  handwriting,  the  three  happy  words,  —  *  Geof 
frey,  come  home."' 

Moor  did  not  speak,  but  still  looked  up  anxiously,  in 
quiringly  ;  and  Warwick  answered  with  a  glance  he  could 
not  doubt. 

"  Have  no  fears  for  me.  I  share  the  joy  as  heartily  as 
I  shared  the  sorrow  ;  neither  can  separate  us  any  m  >re." 

"  Thank  heaven  for  that !  But,  Adam,  may  I  accept 
this  good  gift  and  be  sure  I  am  not  robbing  you  again? 
You  neve?  speak  of  the  past,  how  is  it  with  you  now?" 

"  Quite  well  and  happy;  the  pain  is  gone,  the  peace  re 
mains.  I  would  not  have  it  otherwise.  Six  months  have 
cured  the  selfishness  of  love,  and  left  the  satisfaction  which 
nothing  can  change  or  take  away." 

"  But  Sylvia,  what  of  her,  Adam  ?  " 

"Henceforth,  Sylvia  and  Ottila  are  only  fair  illustra 
tions  of  the  two  extremes  of  love.  I  am  glad  to  have  known 
both ;  each  has  helped  me,  and  each  will  be  remembered 
while  I  live.  But  having  gained  the  experience  I  can 
relinquish  the  unconscious  bestowers  of  it,  if  it  is  not  best 
to  keep  them.  Believe  that  I  do  this  without  regret, 
and  freely  enjoy  the  happiness  that  comes  to  you." 

"  I  will,  but  not  as  I  once  should ;  for  though  I  feel  that 
you  need  neither  sympathy  nor  pity,  still,  I  seem  to  take  so 
much  and  leave  you  nothing." 

"  You  leave  me  myself,  better  and  humbler  than  before. 
In  the  fierce  half  hour  I  lived  not  long  ago,  I  think  a  great 


278  MOODS. 

and  needful  change  was  wrought  in  me.  All  lives  are  full 
of  such,  coming  when  least  looked  for,  working  out  the  end 
through  unexpected  means.  The  restless,  domineering  devil 
that  haunted  me  was  cast  out  then  ;  and  during  the  quiet  time 
that  followed  a  new  spirit  entered  in  and  took  possession." 

"  What  is  it,  Adam  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell,  yet  I  welcome  it.  This  peaceful  mood 
may  not  last  perhaps,  but  it  brings  me  that  rare  moment  — 
pity  that  it  is  so  rare,  and  but  a  moment  —  when  we  seem 
to  see  temptation  at  our  feet ;  when  we  are  conscious  of  a 
willingness  to  leave  all  in  God's  hand,  ready  for  whatever 
He  may  send ;  feeling  that  whether  it  be  suffering  or  joy 
we  shall  see  the  Giver  in  the  gift,  and  when  He  calls  can 
answer  cheerfully  '  Lord  here  am  I.'  " 

It  was  a  rare  moment,  and  in  it  Moor  for  the  first  time 
clearly  saw  the  desire  and  design  of  his  friend's  life  ;  saw 
it  because  it  was  accomplished,  and  for  the  instant  Adam 
"Warwick  was  what  he  aspired  to  be.  A  goodly  man,  whose 
stalwart  body  seemed  a  fit  home  for  a  strong  soul,  wise  with 
the  wisdom  of  a  deep  experience,  genial  with  the  virtues  of 
an  upright  life,  devout  with  that  humble  yet  valiant  piety 
which  comes  through  hard- won  victories  over  "  the  world, 
the  flesh,  and  the  devil."  Despite  the  hope  that  warmed 
his  heart,  Moor  felt  poor  beside  him,  as  a  new  reverence 
warmed  the  old  affection.  His  face  showed  it  though  he 
did  not  speak,  and  Warwick  laid  an  arm  about  his  shoulders 
as  he  had  often  done  of  late  when  they  were  alone,  draw 
ing  him  gently  on  again,  as  he  said,  with  a  touch  of  play 
fulness  to  set  both  at  ease  — 

"  Tell  me  your  plans, '  my  cup  of  gold,'  and  let  me  lend 
a  hand  toward  filling  you  brimful  of  happiness.  You  are 
going  home  ?  " 


COME.  279 

••  At  once;  you  also." 

"  Is  it  best  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  you  came  for  me,  I  stay  for  you,  and  Sylvia  waits 
for  both." 

"  She  says  nothing  of  me  in  this  short,  sweet  note  of 
hers ; "  and  Warwick  smoothed  it  carefully  in  his  large 
hand,  eyeing  it  as  if  he  wished  there  were  some  little  word 
for  him. 

"  True,  but  in  the  few  letters  she  has  written  there  al 
ways  comes  a  message  to  you,  though  you  never  write  a 
line ;  nor  would  you  go  to  her  now  had  she  sent  for  you 
alone  ;  she  knew  that,  and  sends  for  me,  sure  that  you  will 
follow." 

"  Being  a  woman  she  cannot  quite  forgive  me  for  loving 
her  too  well  to  make  her  miserable.  Dear  soul,  she  will 
never  know  how  much  it  cost  me,  but  I  knew  that  my  only 
safety  lay  in  flight.  Tell  her  so  a  long  while  hence." 

"  You  shall  do  it  yourself,  for  you  are  coming  home  with 
me." 

"  What  to  do  there?" 

"  All  you  ever  did;  walk  up  and  down  the  face  of  the 
earth,  waxing  in  power  and  virtue,  and  coming  often  to  us 
when  we  get  fairly  back  into  our  former  ways,  for  you  are 
still  the  house  friend." 

"  I  was  wondering,  as  I  walked  here,  what  my  next  sum 
mons  would  be,  when  lo,  you  came.  Go  on,  I'll  follow 
you  ;  one  could  hardly  have  a  better  guide." 

"  You  are  sure  you  are  able,  Adam  ?  " 

"  Shall  I  uproot  a  tree  or  fling  you  over  the  wall  to  con 
vince  you,  you  motherly  body  ?  •  I  am  nearly  whole  again, 
and  a  breath  of  sea  air  will  complete  the  cure.  Let  me  cover 
oiy  head,  say  farewell  to  the  good  Sisters,  and  I  shall  be 


280  MOODS. 

glad  to  slip  away  without  further  demonstrations  from  the 
volcanoes  below  there." 

Laying  one  hand  on  the  low  wall,  Warwick  vaulted  over 
with  a  backward  glance  at  Moor,  who  followed  to  the  gate 
way,  there  to  wait  till  the  adieux  were  over.  Very  brief 
they  were,  and  presently  Warwick  reappeared,  evidently 
touched  yet  ill-pleased  at  something,  for  he  both  smiled  and 
frowned  as  he  paused  on  the  threshold  as  if  loth  to  go.  A 
little  white  goat  came  skipping  from  the  orchard,  and  see 
ing  the  stranger  took  refuge  at  Warwick's  knee.  The  act 
of  the  creature  seemed  to  suggest  a  thought  to  the  man. 
Pulling  off  the  gay  handkerchief  some  grateful  woman  had 
knotted  round  his  neck,  he  fastened  it  about  the  goat's, 
having  secured  something  in  one  end,  then  rose  as  if 
content. 

"What  are  you  doing?  "  called  Moor,  wondering  at  this 
arrangement. 

"  Widening  the  narrow  entrance  into  heaven  set  apart  for 
rich  men  unless  they  leave  their  substance  behind,  as  I  am 
trying-to  do.  The  kind  creatures  cannot  refuse  it  now ;  so 
trot  away  to  your  mistress,  little  Nanna,  and  tell  no  tales 
as  you  go." 

As  the  goat  went  tapping  up  the  steps  a  stir  within  an 
nounced  the  dreaded  demonstration.  Warwick  did  not 
seem  to  hear  it ;  he  stood  looking  far  across  the  trampled 
plain  and  ruined  town  toward  the  mountains  shining  white 
against  the  deep  Italian  sky.  A  rapt,  far-reaching  look,  as 
if  he  saw  beyond  the  purple  wall,  and  seeing  forgot  the 
present  in  some  vision  of  the  future. 

"  Come,  Adam !  I  am  waiting." 

His  eye  came  back,  the  lost  look  passed,  and  cheerily  he 
answered  — 


COME.  281 

"  I  am  ready." 

A  fortnight  later  in  that  dark  hour  before  the  dawn, 
with  a  murky  sky  above  them,  a  hungry  sea  below  them, 
the  two  stood  together  the  last  to  leave  a  sinking  ship. 

"  Room  for  one  more,  choose  quick ! "  shouted  a  hoarse 
voice  from  the  boat  tossing  underneath,  freighted  to  the 
water's  edge  with  trembling  lives. 

"  Go,  Geoffrey,  Sylvia  is  waiting." 

"  Not  without  you,  Adam."  . 

"  But  you  are  exhausted ;  I  can  bear  a  rough  hour  better 
than  yourself,  and  morning  will  bring  help." 

"  It  may  not.     Go,  I  am  the  lesser  loss." 

"  What  folly!  I  will  force  you  to  it;  steady  there,  he 
is  coming." 

"  Push  off,  I  am  not  coming." 

In  times  like  that,  few  pause  for  pity  or  persuasion  ;  the 
instinct  of  self-preservation  rules  supreme,  and  each  is  for 
himself,  except  those  in  whom  love  of  another  is  stronger 
than  love  of  life.  Even  while  the  friends  generously  con 
tended  the  boat  was  swept  away,  and  they  were  left  alone 
in  the  deserted  ship,  swiftly  making  its  last  voyage  down 
ward.  Spent  with  a  day  of  intense  excitement,  and  sick 
with  hope  deferred,  Moor  leaned  on  "Warwick,  feeling  that 
it  was  adding  bitterness  to  death  to  die  in  sight  of  shore. 
But  Warwick  never  knew  despair  ;  passive  submission  was 
not  in  his  power  while  anything  remained  to  do  or  dare, 
and  even  then  he  did  not  cease  to  hope.  It  was  certain 
death  to  linger  there ;  other  boats  less  heavily  laden  had 
put  off  before,  and  might  drift  across  their  track ;  wreckers 
waiting  on  the  shore  might  hear  and  help  ;  at  least  it  were 
better  to  die  bravely  and  not  "  strike  sail  to  a  fear."  About 
his  waist  still  hung  a  fragment  of  the  rope  which  had  low 


282  MOODS. 

ered  more  than  one  baby  to  its  mother's  arms ;  before  them 
the  shattered  taffrail  rose  and  fell  as  the  waves  beat  over  it. 
Wrenching  a  spar  away  he  lashed  Moor  to  it,  explaining  his 
purpose  as  he  worked.  There  was  only  rope  enough  for 
one,  an5  in  the  darkness  Moor  believed  that  Warwick  had ' 
taken  equal  precautions  for  himself." 

"  Now  Geoffrey  your  hand,  and  when  the  next  wave 
ebbs  let  us  follow  it.  If  we  are  parted  and  you  see  her 
first  tell  her  I  rgmembered,  and  give  her  this." 

In  the  black  night  with  only  Heaven  to  see  them  the 
men  kissed  tenderly  as  women,  then  hand  in  hand  sprang 
out  into  the  sea.  Drenched  and  blinded  they  struggled  up 
after  the  first  plunge,  and  struck  out  for  the  shore,  guided 
by  the  thunder  of  the  surf  they  had  listened  to  for  twelve 
long  hours,  as  it  broke  against  the  beach,  and  brought  no 
help  on  its  receding  billows.  Soon  Warwick  was  the  only 
one  who  struggled,  for  Moor'tf  strength  was  gone,  and  he 
clung  half  conscious  to  the  spar,  tossing  from  wave  to  wave, 
SL  piteous  plaything  for  the  sea. 

"I  see  a  light !  —  they  must  take  you  in  —  hold  fast, 
I'll  save  you  for  the  little  wife  at  home." 

Moor  heard  but  two  words,  "  wife  "  and  "  home ;  "  strain 
ed  his  dim  eyes  to  see  the  light,  spent  his  last  grain  of 
strength  to  reach  it,  and  in  the  act  lost  consciousness,  whis 
pering — "  She  will  thank  you,"  as  his  head  fell  against 
Warwick's  breast  and  lay  there,  heavy  and  still.  Lifting 
himself  above  the  spar,  Adam  lent  the  full  power  of  his 
voice  to  the  shout  he  sent  ringing  through  the  storm.  He 
did  not  call  in  vain,  a  friendly  wind  took  the  cry  to  human 
ears,  a  relenting  wave  swept  them  within  the  reach  of  hu 
man  aid,  and  the  boat's  crew,  pausing  involuntarily,  gaw  a 
hand  clutch  the  suspended  oar,  a  face  flash  up  from  the 


COME.  283 

black  water,  and  heard  a  breathless  voice  issue  the  com 
mand — 

"  Take  in  this  man  !  he  saved  you  for  your  wives,  save 
him  for  his." 

One  resolute  will  can  sway  a  panic- stricken  multitude  ; 
it  did  so  then.  The  boat  was  rocking  in  the  long  swell  of 
,  the  sea ;  a  moment  and  the  coming  wave  would  sweep  them 
far  apart.  A  woman  sobbed,  and  as  if  moved  by  one  im 
pulse  four  sturdy  arms  clutched  and  drew  Moor  in.  While 
loosening  his  friend  Warwick  had  forgotten  himself,  and 
the  spar  was  gone.  He  knew  it,  but  the  rest  believed  that 
they  left  the  strong  man  a  chance  of  life  equal  to  their  own 
in  that  overladen  boat  Yet  in  the  memories  of  all  who 
caught  that  last  glimpse  of  him  there  long  remained  the 
recollection  of  a  dauntless  face  floating  out  into  the  night, 
a  steady  voice  calling  through  the  gale,  "A  good  voyage, 
comrades  !  "  as  he  turned  away  to  enter  port  before  them. 

Wide  was  the  sea  and  pitiless  the  storm,  but  neither 
could  dismay  the  unconquerable  spirit  of  the  man  who 
fought  against  the  elements  as  bravely  as  if  they  were  ad 
versaries  of  mortal  mould,  and  might  be  vanquished  in  the 
end.  But  it  was  not  to  be ;  soon  he  felt  it,  accepted  it, 
turned  his  face  upward  toward  the  sky,  where  one  star 
riione,  and  when  Death  whispered  "Come!"  answered  as 
•jheerily  as  to  that  other  friend,  "  I  am  ready."  Then  with 
n  parting  thought  for  the  man  he  had  saved,  the  woman 
he  had  loved,  the  promise  he  had  kept,  a  great  and  tender 
heart  went  down  into  the  sea. 

Sometimes  the  Sculptor,  whose  workshop  is  the  world, 
fuses  many  metals  and  casts  a  noble  statue ;  leaves  it  for 
humanity  to  criticise,  and  when  time  has  mellowed  both 


284  MOODS. 

beauties  and  blemishes,  removes  it  to  that  inner  studio, 
there  to  be  carved  in  enduring  marble. 

Adam  Warwick  was  such  an  one  ;  with  much  alloy  and 
many  flaws ;  but  beneath  all  defects  the  Master's  eye  saw  the 
grand  lines  that  were  to  serve  as  models  for  the  perfect  man, 
and  when  the  design  had  passed  through  all  necessary  pro 
cesses,  —  the  mould  of  clay,  the  furnace  fire,  the  test  of 
time,  —  He  washed  the  dust  away,  and  pronounced  it 
for  the  marble. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

OUT   OP    THE    SHADOW. 

THEY  had  been  together  for  an  hour,  the  husband  and 
the  wife.  The  first  excitement  was  now  over,  and  Sylvia 
stood  behind  him  tearless  and  tranquil,  while  Moor,  looking 
like  a  man  out  of  whom  the  sea  had  drenched  both  strength 
and  spirit,  leaned  his  weary  head  against  her,  trying  to 
accept  the  great  loss,  enjoy  the  great  gain  which  had  be 
fallen  him.  Hitherto  all  their  talk  had  been  of  Warwick, 
and  as  Moor  concluded  the  history  of  the  months  so  tragi 
cally  ended,  for  the  first  time  he  ventured  to  express  wonder 
at  the  calmness  with  which  his  hearer  received  the  sad 
story. 

"  How  quietly  you  listen  to  words  which  it  wrings  my 
heart  to  utter.  Have  you  wept  your  tears  dry,  or  do  you 
still  cling  to  hope  ?  " 

"No,  I  feel  that  we  shall  never  see  him  any  more  ;  but 
I  have  no  desire  to  weep,  for  tears  and  lamentations  do  not 
belong  to  him.  He  died  a  beautiful,  a  noble  death  ;  the 
sea  is  a  fitting  grave  for  him,  and  it  is  pleasant  to  think  of 
him  asleep  there,  quiet  at  last." 

" 1  cannot  feel  so  ;  I  find  it  hard  to  think  of  him  as  dead  ; 
he  was  so  full  of  life,  so  fit  to  live." 

"  And  therefore  fit  to  die.  Imagine  him  as  I  do,  enjoy 
ing  the  larger  life  he  longed  for,  and  growing  to  be  the 


286  MOODS. 

strong,  sweet  soul  whose  foreshadowing  we  saw  and  loved 
so  here."  A 

"  Sylvia,  I  have  told  you  of  the  beautiful  change  which 
befell  him  in  those  last  days,  and  now  I  see  the  same  in 
you.  Are  you,  too,  about  to  leave  me  when  I  have  just 
recovered  you  ?  " 

"  I  shall  stay  with  you  all  my  life." 

"  Then  Adam  was  less  to  you  than  you  believed,  and  I 
am  more  ?  " 

"  Nothing  is  changed.  Adam  is  all  he  ever  was  to  me, 
you  are  all  you  ever  can  be  ;  but  I  —  " 

"  Then  why  send  for  me  ?  Why  say  you  will  stay  with 
me  all  your  life  ?  Sylvia,  for  God's  sake,  let  there  be  no 
more  delusion  or  deceit!  " 

"  Never  again !  I  will  tell  you ;  I  meant  to  do  it  at 
once,  but  it  is  so  hard — " 

She  turned  her  face  away,  and  for  a  moment  neither 
stirred.  Then  drawing  his  head  to  its  former  resting-place 
she  touched  it  very  tenderly,  seeing  how  many  white  threads 
shone  among  the  brown  ;  and  as  her  hand  went  to  and  fro 
with  an  inexpressibly  soothing  gesture,  she  said,  in  a  tone 
whose  quietude  controlled  his  agitation  like  a  spell  — 

"  Long  ago,  in  my  great  trouble,  Faith  told  me  that  for 
every  human  effort  or  affliction  there  were  two  freindly 
helpers,  Time  and  Death.  The  first  has  taught  me  more 
gently  than  I  deserved ;  has  made  me  humble,  and  given 
me  hope  that  through  my  errors  I  may  draw  virtue  from 
repentance.  But  while  I  have  been  learning  the  lessons 
time  can  teach,  that  other  helper  has  told  me  to  be  ready 
for  its  coming.  Geoffrey,  I  sent  for  you  because  I.  knew 
you  would  love  to  see  me  again  before  we  must  say  the  long 
good  by." 


OUT    OF    THE    SHADOW.  287 

"Oh,  Sylvia !  not  that ;  anything  but  that.  I  cannot 
bear  it  now  !  " 

"  Dear  heart,  be  patient ;  lean  on  me,  and  let  me  help 
you  bear  it,  for  it  is  inevitable." 

"  It  shall  not  be  !  There  must  be  some  help,  some  hope. 
God  would  not  be  so  pitiless  as  to  take  both." 

"  I  shall  not  leave  you  yet.  He  does  not  take  me ;  it  is 
I,  who,  by  wasting  life,  have  lost  the  right  to  live." 

"  But  is  it  so?  I  cannot  make  it  true.  You  look  so 
beautiful,  so  blooming,  and  the  future  seemed  so  sure. 
Sylvia,  show  it  to  me,  if  it  must  be." 

She  only  turned  her  face  to  him,  only  held  up  her  trans 
parent  hand,  and  let  him  read  the  heavy  truth.  He  did 
so,  for  now  he  saw  that  the  beauty  and  the  bloom  were 
transitory  as  the  glow  of  leaves  that  frost  makes  fairest  as 
they  fall,  and  felt  the  full  significance  of  the  great  change 
which  had  come.  He  clung  to  her  with  a  desperate  yet 
despairing  hold,  and  she  could  only  let  the  first  passion  of 
his  grief  have  way,  soothing  and  sustaining,  while  her  heart 
bled  and  the  draught  was  very  bitter  to  her  lips." 

"  Hush,  love ;  be  quiet  for  a  little  ;  and  when  you  can 
bear  it  better,  I  will  tell  you  how  it  is  with  me." 

"  Tell- me  now;  let  me  hear  everything  at  once.  When 
did  you  know  ?  How  are  you  sure  ?  Why  keep  it  from 
me  all  this  time  ?  " 

"  I  have  only  known  it  for  a  little  while,  but  I  am  very 
sure,  and  I  kept  it  from  you  that  you  might  come  happily 
home,  for  knowledge  of  it  would  have  lengthened  every 
mile,  and  made  the  journey  one  long  anxiety.  I  could  not 
know  that  Adam  would  go  first,  and  so  make  my  task 
doubly  hard." 

"  Come  to  me,  Sylvia;  let  me  keep  you  while  I  may.     I 


288  MOODS. 

will  not  be  violent;  I  will  listen  patiently,  and  through 
everything  remember  you." 

He  did  remember  her,  so  thoughtfully,  so  tenderly,  that 
her  little  story  flowed  on  uninterrupted  by  sigh  or  sob ;  and 
while  he  held  his  grief  in  check,  the  balm  of  submission 
comforted  his  sore  heart.  Sitting  by  him,  sustaining  and 
sustained,  she  told  the  history  of  the  last  six  months,  till 
just  before  the  sending  of  the  letter.  She  paused  there  a 
moment,  then  hurried  on,  gradually  losing  the  conscious 
ness  of  present  emotion  in  the  vivid  memory  of  the  past. 

"  You  have  no  faith  in  dreams ;  I  have  ;  and  to  a  dream 
I  owe  my  sudden  awakening  to  the  truth.  Thank  and  re 
spect  it,  for  without  its  warning  I  might  have  remained  in 
ignorance  of  my  state  until  it  was  too  late  to  find  and 
bring  you  home." 

"  God  bless  the  dream  and  keep  the  dreamer  !  " 

"  This  was  a  strange  and  solemn  vision  ;  one  to  remem 
ber  and  to  love  for  its  beautiful  interpretation  of  the  pro 
phecy  that  used  to  awe  and  sadden  me,  but  never  can  again. 
I  dreamed  that  the  last  day  of  the  world  had  come.  I 
stood  on  a  shadowy  house-top  in  a  shadowy  city,  and  all 
around  me  far  as  eye  could  reach  thronged  myriads  of  peo 
ple,  till  the  earth  seemed  white  with  human  faces.  All  were 
mute  and  motionless,  as  if  fixed  in  a  trance  of  expectation, 
for  none  knew  how  the  end  would  come.  Utter  silence 
filled  the  world,  and  across  the  sky  a  vast  curtain  of  the 
blackest  cloud  was  falling,  blotting  out  face  after  face  and 
leaving  the  world  a  blank.  In  that  universal  gloom  and 
stillness,  far  above  me  in  the  heavens  I  saw  the  pale  out 
lines  of  a  word  stretching  from  horizon  to  horizon.  Letter 
after  letter  came  out  full  and  clear,  till  all  across  the  sky, 
burning  with  a  ruddy  glory  stronger  than  the  sun,  shone 


OUT    OF    THE    SHADOW.  289 

the  great  word  Amen.  As  the  last  letter  reached  its  bright 
perfection,  a  long  waft  of  wind  broke  over  me  like  a  uni 
versal  sigh  of  hope  from'  human  hearts.  For  far  away  on 
the  horizon's  edge  all  saw  a  line  of  light  that  widened 
as  they  looked,  and  through  that  rift,  between  the  dark 
earth  and. the  darker  sky,  rolled  in  a  softly  flowing  sea. 
Wave  after  wave  came  on,  so  wide,  so  cool,  so  still.  None 
trembled  at  their  approach,  none  shrunk  from  their  embrace, 
but  all  turned  toward  that  ocean  with  a  mighty  rush,  all 
faces  glowed  in  its  splendor,  and  million  after  million  van 
ished  with  longing  eyes  fixed  on  the  arch  of  light  through 
which  the  ebbing  sea  would  float  them  when  its  work  was 
done.  I  felt  no  fear,  only  the  deepest  awe,  for  I  seemed 
such  an  infinitesimal  atom  of  the  countless  host  that  I  for 
got  myself.  Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  flood,  till  its  breath 
blew  on  my  cheeks,  and  I,  too,  leaned  to  meet  it,  longing 
to  be  taken.  A  great  wave  rolled  up  before  me,  and  through 
its  soft  glimmer  I  saw  a  beautiful,  benignant  face  regard 
ing  me.  Then  I  knew  that  each  and  all  had  seen  the  same, 
and  losing  feSir  in  love  were  glad  to  go.  The  joyful  yearn 
ing  woke  me  as  the  wave  seemed  to  break  at  my  feet,  and 
ebbing  leave  me  still  alive." 

"  And  that  is  all?  Only  a  dream,  a  foreboding  fancy, 
Sylvia  ?  " 

"  When  I  woke  my  hair  was  damp  on  my  forehead,  my 
breath  quite  still,  my  heart  so  cold  I  felt  as  if  death  had. 
indeed  been  near  me  and  left  its  chill  behind.  So  strong 
was  the  impression  of  the  dream,  so  perfect  was  the  simili 
tude  between  the  sensations  I  had  experienced  then,  and 
more  than  once  awake,  that  I  felt  that  something  was  scri- 
ously  wrong  with  me." 

"You  had  been  ill  then?" 
25 


290  MOODS. 

"  Not  consciously,  not  suffering  any  pain,  but  consumed 
with  an  inward  fever  that  would  not  burn  itself  away. 
I  used  to  have  a  touch  of  it  in  the  evenings,  you  remember  ; 
but  now  it  burned  all  day,  making  me  look  strong  and  rosy, 
yet  leaving  me  so  worn  out  at  night  that  no  sleep  seemed 
to  restore  me.  A  few  weak  and  weary  hours,  then  the  fire 
was  rekindled  and  the  false  strength,  color,  spirits,  returned 
to  deceive  myself,  and  those  about  me,  for  another  day." 

"  Did  you  tell  no  one  of  this,  Sylvia  ?  " 

"  Not  at  first,  because  I  fancied  it  a  mental  ill.  I  had 
thought  so  much,  so  deeply,  it  seemed  but  natural  that  I 
should  be  tired.  I  tried  to  rest  myself  by  laying  all  my 
cares  and  sorrows  in  G-od's  hand,  and  waiting  patiently  to 
be  shown  the  end.  I  see  it  now,  but  for  a  time  I  could 
only  sit  and  wait ;  and  while  I  did  so  my  soul  grew  strong 
but  my  ill-used  body  failed.  The  dream  came,  and  in  the 
etillncss  of  that  night  I  felt  a  strange  assurance  that  I 
-should  see  my  mother  soon." 

"  Dear,  what  did  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  determined  to  discover  if  I  had  deceived  myself  with 
a  superstitious  fancy,  or  learned  a  fateful  fact  in  my  own 
mysterious  way.  If  it  were  false,  no  one  would  be  made 
anxious  by  it ;  if  true,  possessing  the  first  knowledge  of  it 
would  enable  me  to  comfort  others.  I  went  privately  to 
town  and  consulted  the  famous  physician  who  has  grown 
gray  in  the  study  of  disease." 

"Did  you  go  alone,  Sylvia?" 

"Yes,  alone.  I  am  braver  than  I  used  to  be,  apd  have 
learned  never  to  feel  quite  alone.  I  found  a  grave,  stern- 
looking  man ;  I  told  him  that  I  wished  to  know  the  entire 
truth  whatever  it  might  be,  and  that  he  need  not  fear  to 
tell  me  because  I  was  prepared  for  it.  He-  asked  many 


OUT   OF   THE    SHADOW.  291 

questions,  thought  a  little,  and  was  very  slow  to  speak. 
Then  I  saw  how  it  would  be,  but  urged  him  to  set  my  mind 
at  rest.  His  stern  old  face  grew  very  pitiful  as  he  took  my 
hand  and  answered  gently —  "  My  child,  go  home  and  pre 
pare  to  die." 

"  Good  God,  how  cruel !     Sylvia,  how  did  you  bear  it? " 

"  At  first  the  earth  seemed  to  slip  away  from  under  me, 
and  time  to  stand  still.  Then  I  was  myself  again,  and  could 
listen  steadily  to  all  he  said.  It  was  only  this,  —  I  had 
been  born  with  a  strong  nature  in  a  feeble  frame,  had  lived 
too  fast,  wasted  health  ignorantly,  and  was  past  help." 

"  Could  he  do  nothing  for  you?  " 

"  Nothing  but  tell  me  how  to  husband  my  remaining 
strength,  and  make  the  end  easy  by  the  care  that  would 
have  kept  me  longer  had  I  known  this  sooner." 

"  And  no  one  saw  your  danger ;  no  one  warned  you  of  it ; 
and  I  was  away !  " 

"  Father  could  not  see  it,  for  I  looked  well  and  tried  to 
think  I  felt  so.  Mark  and  Jessie  were  absorbed  in  baby 
Sylvia,  and  Prue  was  gone.  You  might  have  seen  and 
helped  me,  for  you  have  the  intuitions  of  a  woman  in  many 
things,  but  I  could  not  send  for  you  then  because  I  could 
not  give  you  what  you  asked.  Was  it  wrong  to  call  you 
when  I  did,  and  try  to  make  the  hard  fact  easier  to  bear  by 
telling  it  myself?  " 

"  Heaven  bless  you  for  it,  Sylvia.  It  was  truly  generous 
and  kind.  I  never  could  have  forgiven  you  had  you  denied 
me  the  happiness  of  seeing  you  again,  and  you  have  robbed 
the  truth  of  half  its  bitter  pain  by  telling  it  yourself." 

A  restful  expression  came  into  her  face,  and  a  sigb  of 
satisfaction  proved  how  great  was  the  relief  of  feeling  that 
for  once  her  heart  had  prompted  her  aright.  Moor  let  her 


292  MOODS. 

rest  a  little,  then  asked  with  a  look  more  pathetic  than  his 
words  — 

tf  What  am  I  to  you  now  ?     Where  is  my  home  to,be  ?  " 

"  My  friend  forever,  no  more,  no  less  ;  and  your  home  is 
here  with  us  until  1  leave  my  father  to  your  care.  All  this 
pain  and  separation  were  in  vain  if  we  have  not  learned 
that  love  can  neither  be  forced  nor  feigned.  While  I  endea 
vored  to  do  so,  God  did  not  help  me,  and  I  went  deeper 
and  deeper  into  sorrow  and  wrong  doing.  When  I  dropped 
all  self-delusion  and  desperate  striving,  and  stood  still, 
asking  to  be  shown  the  right,  then  he  put  out  his  hand  and 
through  much  tribulation  led  me  to  convictions  that  I  dare 
not  disobey.  Our  friendship  may  be  a  happy  one  if  we 
accept  and  use  it  as  we  should.  Let  it  be  so,  and  for  the 
little  while  that  I  remain,  let  us  live  honestly  before  heaven 
and  take  no  thought  for  the  world's  opinion." 

Adam  might  have  owned  the  glance  she  bent  upon  her 
husband,  so  clear,  so  steadfast  was  it ;  but  the  earnestness 
was  all  her  own,  and  blended  with  it  a  new  strength 
that  seemed  a  late  compensation  for  lost  love  and  waning 
life.  Remembering  the  price  both  had  paid  for  it,  Moor 
gratefully  accepted  the  costly  friendship  offered  him,  and 
soon  acknowledged  both  its  beauty  and  its  worth. 

"  One  question  more  ;  Sylvia,  how  long?  " 

It  was  very  hard  to  answer,  but  folding  the  sharp  fact 
in  the  gentlest  fancy  that  appeared  to  her  she  gave  him  the 
whole  truth. 

"  I  shall  not  see  the  spring  again,  but  it  will  be.  a  pleasant 
time  to  lay  me  underneath  the  flowers." 

Sylvia  had  not  known  how  to  live,  but  now  she  proved 
that  she  did  know  how  to  die.  So  beautifully  were  the  two 
made  one,  the  winning  girl,  the  deep-hearted  woman,  that 


OUT   OF    THE   SHADOW.  29-* 

she  seemed  the  same  beloved  Sylvia,  yet  Sylvia  strengthen 
ed,  purified,  and  perfected  by  the  hard  past,  the  solemn 
present.  Those  about  her  felt  and  owned  the  unconscious 
power,  which  we  call  the  influence  of  character,  and  which 
is  the  noblest  that  gives  sovereignty  to  man  or  woman. 

So  cheerfully  did  she  speak  of  it,  so  tranquilly  did  she 
prepare  to  meet  it,  that  death  soon  ceased  to  be  an  image  of 
grief  or  fear  to  those  about  her,  and  became  a  benignant 
friend,  who,  when  the  mortal  wearies,  blesses  it  with  a  brief 
sleep,  that  it  may  wake  immortal.  She  would  have  no  sad, 
sick-chamber,  no  mournful  faces,  no  cessation  of  the  whole 
some  household  cares  and  joys,  that  do  so  much  to  make 
hearts  strong  and  spirits  happy.  While  strength  remained, 
she  went  her  round  of  daily  duties,  doing  each  so  lovingly, 
that  the  most  trivial  became  a  delight,  and  taking  unstis- 
pected  thought  for  the  comfort  or  the  pleasure  of  those  soon 
to  be  left  behind,  so  tenderly,  that  she  could  not  seem  lost  to 
them,  even  when  she  was  "gone. 

Faith  came  to  her,  and  as  her  hands  became  too  weak  for 
anything  but  patient  folding,  every  care  slipped  so  quietly 
into  Faith's,  that  few  perceived  how  fast  she  was  laying 
down  the  things  of  this  world,  and  making  ready  to  take 
up  those  of  the  world  to  come.  Her  father  was  her 
faithful  shadow ;  bent  and  white-haired  now,  but  growing 
young  at  heart  in  spite  of  sorrow,  for  his  daughter  had  in 
truth  become  the  blessing  of  his  life.  Mark  and  Jessie 
brought  their  offering  of  love  in  little  Sylvia's  shape,  and 
the  innocent  consoler  did  her  sweet  work  by  making  sun 
shine  in  a  shady  place.  But  Moor  was  all  in  all  to  Sylvia, 
and  their  friendship  proved  an  abiding  strength,  for  sorrow 
made  it  very  tender,  sincerity  ennobled  it,  and  the  coming 
change  sanctified  it  to  them  both. 


294  MOODS. 

April  came ;  and  on  her  birthday,  with  a  grateful  heart, 
Moor  gathered  the  first  snow-drops  of  the  year.  All  day 
they  stood  beside  her  couch,  as  fragile  and  as  pale  as  she, 
and  many  eyes  had  filled  as  loving  fancies  likened  her  to 
the  slender,  transparent  vase,  the  very  spirit  of  a  shape, 
and  the  white  flowers  that  had  blossomed  beautifully  through 
the  snow.  When  the  evening  lamp  was  lighted,  she  took 
the  little  posy  in  her  hand,  and  lay  with  her  eyes  upon  it, 
listening  to  the  book  Moor  read,  for  this  hour  always  soothed 
the  unrest  of  the  day.  Very  quiet  was  the  pleasant  room, 
with  no  sounds  in  it  but  the  soft  flicker  of  the  fire,  the  rus 
tle  of  Faith's  needle,  and  the  subdued  music  of  the  voice 
that  patiently  went  reading  on,  long  after  Sylvia's  eyes  had 
closed,  lest  she  should  miss  its  murmur.  For  an  hour  she 
seemed  to  sleep,  so  motionless,  so  colorless,  that  her  father, 
always  sitting  at  her  side,  bent  down  at  last  to  listen  at  her 
lips.  The  lips  smiled,  the  eyes  unclosed,  and  she  looked  up 
at  him,  with  an  expression  as  tender  as  tranquil. 

"A  long  sleep  and  pleasant  dreams  that  wake  you  smil 
ing  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Beautiful  and  happy  thoughts,  father;  let  me  tell  you 
some  of  them.  As  I  lay  here,  I  fell  to  thinking  of  my  life, 
and  at  first  it  seemed  the  sorrowfullest  failure  I  had  ever 
known.  Whom  had  I  made  happy?  What  had  I  done 
worth  the  doing  ?  Where  was  the  humble  satisfaction  that 
should  come  hand  in  hand  with  death  ?  At  first  I  could 
find  no  answers  to  my  questions,  and  though  my  one  and 
twenty  years  do  not  seem  long  to  live,  I  felt  as  if  it  would 
have  been  better  for  us  all  if  I  had  died,  a  new-born  baby 
in  my  mother's  arms." 

"  My  child,  say  anything  but  that,  because  it  is  I  who 
have  made  your  life  a  failure." 


OUT    OF   THE    SHADOW.  295 

"  Wait  a  little  father,  and  you  will  see  that  it  is  a  beau 
tiful  success.  I  have  given  happiness,  have  done  something 
worth  the  doing ;  now  I  see  a  compensation  for  all  seeming 
loss,  and  heartily  thank  God  that  I  did  not  die  till  I  had 
learned  the  true  purpose  of  all  lives.  He  knows  that  I  say 
these  things  humbly,  that  I  claim  no  virtue  for  myself,  and 
have  been  a  blind  instrument  in  His  hand,  to  illustrate 
truths  that  will  endure  when  I  am  forgotten.  I  have  help 
ed  Mark  and  Jessie,  for,  remembering  me,  they  will  feel 
how  blest  they  are  in  truly  loving  one  another.  They  will 
keep  little  Sylvia  from  making  mistakes  like  mine,  and  the 
household  joys  and  sorrows  we  have  known  together,  will 
teach  Mark  to  make  his  talent  a  delight  to  many,  by  letting 
art  interpret  nature." 

Her  brother  standing  behind  her  stooped  and  kissed  her, 
Baying  through  his  tears  — 

"  I  shall  remember,  dear." 

"  I  have  helped  Geoffrey,  I  believe.  He  lived  too  much 
in  the  affections,  till  through  me  he  learned  that  none  may 
live  for  love  alone.  Genius  will  be  born  of  grief,  and 
he  will  put  his  sorrow  into  song  to  touch  and  teach  other 
hearts  more  gently  than  his  own  has  been,  so  growing  a 
nobler  and  a  richer  man  for  the  great  cross  of  his  life." 

Calm,  with  the  calmness  of  a  grief  too  deep  for  tears,  and 
strong  in  a  devout  belief,  Moor  gave  his  testimony  as  she 
paused. 

"  I  shall  endeavor,  and  now  I  am  as  grateful  for  the  pain, 
as  for  the  joy,  because  together  they  will  show  me  how  to 
live,  and  when  I  have  learned  that  I  shall  be  ready  to  come 
to  you/' 

"  I  think  I  have  served  Adam.  He  needed  gentleness 
as  Geoffrey  needed  strength,  and  I,  unworthy  as  I  am,  woke 


296  MOODS. 

that  deep  heart  of.  his  and  made  it  a  fitter  mate  for  his 
great  soul.  To  us  it  seems  as  if  he  had  left  his  work  unfin 
ished,  but  God  knew  best,  and  when  he  was  needed  for  a 
better  work  he  went  to  find  it.  Yet  I  am  sure  that  he  was 
worthier  of  eternal  life  for  having  known  the  discipline  of 
love." 

There  was  no  voice  to  answer  now,  but  Sylvia  felt  that 
she  would  receive  it  very  soon  and  was  content. 

"  Have  you  no  lesson  for  your  father?  The  old  man 
needs  it  most." 

She  laid  her  thin  hand  tenderly  on  his,  that  if  her  words 
should  bring  reproach,  she  might  seem  to  share  it  with  him. 

"  Yes,  father,  this.  That  if  the  chief  desire  of  the  heart 
is  for  the  right,  it  is  possible  for  any  human  being,  through 
all  trials,  temptations,  and  mistakes,  to  bring  good  out  of 
evil,  hope  from  despair,  success  from  defeat,  and  cerne  at 
last  to  know  an  hour  as  beautiful  and  blest  as  this." 

Who  could  doubt  that  she  had  learned  the  lesson,  when 
from  the  ruins  of  the  perishable  body  the  imperishable  soul 
rose  steadfast  and  serene,  proving  that  after  the  long  be 
wilderment  of  life  and  love  it  had  attained  the  eternal 
peace. 

The  room  grew  very  still,  and  while  those  about  her  pon 
dered  her  words  with  natural  tears,  Sylvia  lay  looking  up 
at  a  lovely  picture  that  seemed  leaning  down  to  offer  her 
again  the  happiest  memory  of  her  youth.  It  was  a  painting 
of  the  moonlight  voyage  down  the  river.  Mark  had  given  it 
that  day,  and  now  when  the  longer,  sadder  voyage  was 
nearly  over,  she  regarded  it  with  a  tender  pleasure.  The 
moon  shone  full  on  Warwick,  looking  out  straight  and 
strong  before  him  with  the  vigilant  expression  native  to  his 
face ;  a  fit  helmsman  to  guide  the  boat  along  that  rapid 


OUT    OF    THE    SHADOW.  297 

stream.  Mark  seemed  pausing  to  watch  the  oars  silvered 
by  the  light,  and  their  reflections  wavy  with  the  current. 
Moor,  seen  in  shadow,  leaned  upcn  his  hand,  as  if  watching 
Sylvia,  a  quiet  figure,  full  of  grace  and  color,  couched 
under  the  green  arch.  On  either  hand  the  summer  woods 
made  vernal  gloom,  behind  the  cliffs  rose  sharply  up  against 
the  blue,  and  all  before  wound  a  shining  road,  along  which 
the  boat  seemed  floating  like  a  bird  on  slender  wings  be- 
tween  two  skies. 

So  long  she  lay  forgetful  of  herself  and  all  about  her, 
that  Moor  saw  she  needed  rest,  for  the  breath  fluttered  on 
her  lips,  the  flowers  had  fallen  one  by  one,  and  her  face 
wore  the  weary  yet  happy  look  of  some  patient  child  wait 
ing  for  its  lullaby. 

"  Dear,  you  have  talked  enough  ;  let  me  take  you  up 
now,  lest  the  pleasant,  day  be  spoiled  by  a  sleepless  night." 

*'  I  am  ready,  yet  I  love  to  stay  among  you  all,  for  in  my 
sleep  I  seem  to  drift  so  far  away  I  never  quite  come  back. 
Good  night,  good  night ;  I  shall  see  you  in  the  morning." 

With  a  smile,  a  kiss  for  all,  they  saw  her  fold  her  arms 
about  her  husband's  neck,  and  lay  down  her  head  as  if  she 
never  cared  to  lift  it  up  again.  The  little  journey  was 
both  a  pleasure  and  pain  to  them,  for  each  night  the  way 
seemed  longer  to  Sylvia,  and  though  the  burden  lightened 
the  bearer  grew  more  heavy-hearted.  It  was  a  silent  pass 
age  now,  for  neither  spoke,  except  when  one  asked  tenderly, 
"Are  you  easy,  love?"  and  the  other  answered,  with  a 
breath  that  chilled  his  cheek,  "  Quite  happy,  quite  content." 

So,  cradled  on  the  heart  that  loved  her  best,  Sylvia  was 
gently  carried  to  the  end  of  her  short  pilgrimage,  and 
when  her  husband  laid  her  down  the  morning  had  already 
dawned. 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD, 

By  the  Author  of  "  THE  GAYWOKTHYS,"   "  BOYS  AT  CHEQUASSET 
ItoZ.,  12mo.    Elegant  fancy  cloth.    Price  $  1.75. 


This  charming  story  fills  a  void  long  felt  for  something  for 
a  young  girl,  growing  into  womanhood,  to  read. 

It  depicts  that  bewitching  period  in  life,  lying  between 
'FOURTEEN  and  TWENTY,  with  its  noble  aspirations,  and  fresh 
enthusiasms.  It  is  written  by  a  very  accomplished  lady,  aiid 
te  "  the  best  book  ever  written  for  girls" 

A  lady  of  rare  culture  says,  — 

" '  Faith  Gartney's  Girlhood/  is  a  noble,  good  work,  that 
could  only  have  been  accomplished  by  an  elevated  mind 
united  to  a  chaste,  tender  heart.  From  the  first  page  to  the 
last,  the  impression  is  received  of  a  life  which  has  been 
lived;  the  characters  are  genuine,  well  drawn,  skilfully 
presented ;  they  are  received  at  once  with  kind,  friendly 
greeting,  and  followed  with  interest,  till  the  last  page  com 
pels  a  reluctant  farewell. 

"  '  The  book  is  written  for  girls,  growing  as  they  grow  to 
womanhood/  The  story  has  an  interest,  far  beyonr1  that 
found  in  modern  romances  of  the  day,  conveyed  in  pure, 
refined  language  ;  suggestive,  pleasing  thoughts  are  unfolded 
on  every  page ;  the  reflective  and  descriptive  passages  are 
natural,  simple,  and  exquisitely  finished. 

"  In  these  days,  when  the  tendency  of  society  is  to  educate 
girls  for  heartless,  aimless,  factitious  life,  a  book  like  this  is 
to  be  welcomed  and  gratefully  received.  Wherever  it  is 
read,  it  will  be  retained  as  a  thoughtful,  suggestive— if 
silent  — 


MAINSTONE'S  HOUSEKEEPER. 

By  Miss  ELIZA  METEYARD  (SILVERPEN). 
1  vol.,  I2mo.    Elegant  fancy  cloth.    Price  $  1.50. 


Douglas  Jerrold  gave  this  distinguished  English  authoress 
this  "  nom  deplume"  and  her  style  has  the  point,  brightness, 
and  delicacy  which  it  suggest*. —  This  is  not  a  cook  book  as 
the  title  might  mislead  some  to  suppose,  but  a  fresh,  vigorous, 
powerful  story  of  English  country  life,  full  of  exquisite  pic 
tures  of  rural  scenery,  with  a  plot  which  is  managed  with 
great  skill,  and  a  surprise  kept  constantly  ahead  so  that  from 
the  opening  to  the  close  the  interest  never  flags.  There  is 
life  in  every  page  and  a  fresh,  delicate,  hearty  sentiment  per 
vades  the  book  that  exhilarates  and  charms  indescribably. 

The  heroine  —  Charlotte  the  housekeeper  —  is  one  of  the 
finest  characters  ever  drawn,  and  merits  unqualified  commen 
dation. 

As  a  whole,  for  beauty  of  style  and  diction,  passionate  ear* 
nestness,  effective  contrasts,  distinctness  of  plot,  unity,  and 
completeness,  this  novel  is  without  a  rival.  It  is  a  "  mid 
night  darling"  that  Charles  Lamb  would  have  exulted  in, 
and  perhaps  the  best  as  yet  produced  from  a  woman's  pen. 


SIMPLICITY  AND  FASCINATION 

BY  ANNE   BEALE. 
1  vol.,  12mo.     Elegant  fancy  cloth.    Pi-ice  $1.50. 


It  is  not  often  that  such  a  sound  and  yet  readable  English 
novel  is  republished  in  America. 

The  due  mean  between  flashiness  and  dulness  is  hard  to 
be  attained,  but  we  have  it  here. 

There  is  neither  a  prosy  page  nor  a  sensational  chapter 
JOL  it. 

It  is  a  nice  book  for  a  clean  hearth  and  an  easy  chair. 

It  is  a  natural,  healthy  book,  written  by  a  living  person, 
about  people  of  flesh  and  blood,  who  might  have  been  our 
neighbors,  and  of  events,  which  might  happen  to  anybody. 
This  is  a  great  charm  in  a  novel.  This  leaves  a  clean  taste 
in  the  mouth,  and  a  delicious  memory  of  the  feast. 

The  tone  of  it  is  high  and  true,  without  being  obtrusively 
good.  Such  a  book  is  as  great  a  relief  amid  the  sensation 
al  stories  of  the  day,  as  a  quiet  little  bit  of  "  still  life  "'is  to 
the  eye,  after  being  blinded  by  the  glaring  colors  of  the  French 
school. 

This  novel  reproduces  that  exquisite  tone  or  flavor  so  hard 
to  express  which  permeates  true  English  country  life,  and 
gives  to  it  a  peculiar  charm  unlike  any  other,  which  one  hav 
Ing  once  seen  and  felt,  lives  as  it  were  under  a  spell,  and 
would  never  willingly  allow  to  fade  from  their  memory. 

Too  much  cannot  be  said  in  praise  of  Simplicity  and  Fas 
cination. 


PIQUE: 

A  Tale  of  the  English  Aristocracy, 

1  vol.,  I2mo.    Elegant  fancy  cloth.    Price  $  1.50. 


Three  thousand  eight  hundred  and  seventy- six  new  book* 
were  published  in  England  this  last  year,  which  is  about  the 
average  number  of  past  years. 

Thirteen  years  ago  PIQUE  was  first  published  in  London, 
and  up  to  the  present  time,  notwithstanding  the  enormous 
number  of  new  books  issued,  the  effect  of  which  is  to  crowd 
the  old  ones  out  of  sight,  this  remarkable  novel  has  con 
tinued  to  have  a  large  sale. 

This  is  the  strongest  praise  that  can  be  bestowed  on  any 
book.  It  is  not  in  the  least  "  sensational,"  but  relies  solely 
on  its  rare  beauty  of  style  and  truthfulness  to  nature  for  ite 
popularity. 

It  has  the  merit  of  being  amusing,  pleasantly  written,  and 
engrossing. 

The  characters  being  high-bred  men  and  women,  are 
charming  companions  for  an  hour's  solitude,  and  one  puts  the 
book  aside  regretfully,  even  as  one  closes  the  eyes  on  a  deli 
cious  vision.  The  American  edition  has  taken  every  one  by 
surprise,  that  so  remarkably  good  a  novel  should  have  so 
long  escaped  attention. 

Every  body  is  charmed  with  it,  and  its  sale  will  continue 
for  years  to  come. 


THE   GAYWORTHYS. 

By  the  author  of   "FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD,"  "Bors  AI 
CHEQUASSET." 


53P  American  ladies  and  gentlemen  travelling  in  England,  are 
amazed  and  delighted  to  find  "an  American  Novel"  welcomed 
with  such  warmth  and  enthusiasm,  by  the  "cultivated"  and 
"  influential,"  in  all  parts  ot  the  Kingdom. 

No  American  book  since  "Uncle  Tom,"  is  so  universally 
known,  read,  and  talked  about. 

The  London  journals,  without  exception,  have  given  it  a  cor 
dial  welcome.  Read  what  they  say  of  it :  — 

"  We  wish  to  write  our  most  appreciative  word  of  this  admirable  and  unexcep 
tional  book.  We  feel  while  we  read  it  that  a  new  master  of  fiction  has  arisen.  . 
.  .  We  can  well  afford  to  wait  a  few  years  now,  if  at  the  end  we  are  to  receive 
from  the  same  pen  a  work  of  such  a  character  and  mark  as  "The  Gayworthys." 

—  Eclectic  Journal. 

"  It  is  impossible  not  to  welcome  so  genial  a  gift.  Nothing  so  complete  and  del 
icately  beautiful  has  come  to  England  irom  America  since  Hawthorne's  death,  anc 
therels  more  of  America  in  '  The  Gayworthys '  than  in  '  The  Scarlet  Letter,'  01 
'  The  House  with  Seven  Gables.'  .  .  .  We  know  not  where  so  much  tender 
feeling  and  wholesome  thought  are  to  be  found  together  as  in  this  history  of  the 
fortunes  of  the  Gayworthys."  —  Reader. 

"  '  The  Gayworthys '  comes  to  us  very  seasonably,  for  it  belongs  to  a  class  of 
novels  wanted  more  and  more  every  day,  yet  daily  growing  scarcer.  We  have 
therefore,  a  warmer  welcome  for  the  book  before  us  as  being  a  particularly  favora 
ble  specimen  of  its' class.  Without  the  exciting  strength  of  wine,  it  offers  to 
feverish  lips  all  the  grateful  coolness  of  the  unferraented  grape." 

—  Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

"  We  have  no  misgivings  in  promising  our  readers  a  rich  treat  in  '  The  Gay 
worthys.'  .  .  .  '  The  Gayworthys '  will  become  a  great  favorite." 

— Nonconformist. 

"...  The  book  is  crowded  with  epigrams  as  incisive  as  this,  yet  incisive 
without  malice  or  bitterness,  cutting  not  so  much  from  the  sharpness  of  the 
thought  as  from  its  weight.  There  is  deep  kindliness  in  the  following  passage,  as 

well  as  deep  insight The  tone  of  the  story,  the  curious  sense  of  peace 

and  kindliness  which  it  produces,  comes  out  well  in  that  extract,  and  the  reader 
quits  it,  foeliug  as  he  would  have  felt  had  he  been  gazing  half  an  hour  on  that 
.c-sene  —  with  more  confidence  alike  in  nature  and  humanity,  less  care  for  the  noisy 
rush  of  city  life,  and  yet  withal  less  fear  of  it.  —  Spectator. 

"  It  is  a  pleasant  book  and  will  make  for  the  producer  friends." 

—Saturday  Review. 

"  We  venture  t6  say  no  one  who  begins  the  book  will  leave  it  unfinished,  or  will 
deny  that  great  additions  have  been  made  to  his  circle  of  acquaintance.  He  has 
been  introduced  to  a  New  England  village,  and  made  acquainted  with  most  of  the 
leading  villagers  in  a  way  winch  leaves  the  impression  on  him  thenceforward  that 
he  knows  them  personally,  that  their  fortunes  and  failures,  and  achievements,  and 
misunderstandings  are  matters  of  interest  to  him,  that  he  would  like  to  know  how 
Gershom  Vose  got  on  with  his  farm,  and  if  Joanna  Gair's  marriage  turned  out 
happily,  and  if  '  Say '  Gair  was  as  interesting  as  a  farmer's  wife  as  she  haa  bee« 
as  a  little  child." 


MARGARET  AND  HER  BRIDESMAIDS, 

By  the  Author  of   "  THE   QUEEN   OF   THE   COUNTY. * 
1  vol.,  I2mo.    Elegant  fancy  cloth.    Price  $1,50. 

This  fascinating  story  of  "  Six  School  Girls"  is  as  charm 
ing  a  stoiy  as  has  "been  written  for  young  ladies.  The 
talented  author  has  a  great  reputation  in  England,  and  all 
her  books  are  widely  circulated  and  read.  "  Faith  Gartney'a 
Girlhood"  and  " Margaret  and  her  Bridesmaids"  should 
stand  side  by  side  in  every  young  lady's  book-case.  Read 
what  the  London  Athenaeum,  the  highest  literary  authority, 
says  of  it :  "  We  may  save  ourselves  the  trouble  of  giving 
any  lengthened  review  of  this  book,  for  we  recommend  all 
who  are  in  search  of  a  fascinating  novel  to  read  it  for  them 
selves.  They  will  find  it  well  worth  their  while.  There  is  a 
freshness  and  originality  about  it  quite  charming,  and  there 
is  a  certain  nobleness  in  the  treatment,  both  of  sentiment 
and  incident,  which  is  not  often  found.  We  imagine  that 
few  can  read  it  without  deriving  some  comfort  or  profit  from 
the  quiet  good  sense  and  unobtrusive  words  of  counsel  with 
which  it  abounds." 

The  story  is  very  interesting.  It  is  the  history  of  six 
school-fellows.  Margaret,  the  heroine,  is,  of  course,  a 
woman  in  the  highest  state  of  perfection.  But  Lotty  —  the 
little,  wilful,  wild,  fascinating,  brave  Lotty  —  is  the  gem  of 
the  book,  and,  as  far  as  our  experience  in  novel  reading  goes, 
is  an  entirely  original  character  —  a  creation  —  and  a  very 
charming  one.  No  story  that  occurs  to  our  memory  contains 
more  interest  than  this  for  novel  readers,  particularly  those 
of  the  tender  sex,  to  whom  it  will  be  a  dear  favorite. 

We  hope  the  authoress  will  give  us  some  more  novels,  as 
oroo'1  as  "  ^Iaro:aret  and  her  Bridesmaids." 


